


Resurrection Stone

by KaedeRavensdale



Series: Terrible Things [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Gen, I've had this idea for years and only just now managed to make it work, M/M, Past Mpreg, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, civil rebellion, nonlinear story telling, terminal conditions, this is sad i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:48:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 41,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28870308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaedeRavensdale/pseuds/KaedeRavensdale
Summary: After the devastating raid which took his mother's life, his father changed. Haunted by a broken promise, he shut them both away within the confines of Slytherin Manor and turned to alcohol to dull his grief. Now, almost 11 years later, his father is dying and Albus Severus finds himself thrust into the spotlight of an unfamiliar world as the Dark Lord's heir apparent. Dependent on those around him to solve the mystery of who his parents really were, before their fallIn the distance, war is brewing.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, past Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Series: Terrible Things [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2117217
Comments: 21
Kudos: 84
Collections: Top-tier HP/TMR Fics





	1. The Broken Promise

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't so much a series as it is a main story with a background piece which I'll release later that will detail exactly how it happened that Harry and Tom ended up falling in love. I first got the idea for this when I saw The Arrival movie, and the way that they made use of nonlinear storytelling, and I wanted to do something similar since it seemed like an interesting way to go about things but at the time I wasn't experienced enough to make it work, ended up writing about one chapter, and shelved it. I stumbled on it recently and picked it up again, and the chapter you see here is a semi-retooled variation of that original chapter. I'll admit to still not being happy with it but at this point I feel like it's as good as it's going to get and have gone ahead and posted it to stop myself from picking at it endlessly. This is 100% going to be an angst train, but I still hope that you guys have the same amount of fun reading it as I've been having writing it. I'll try and update once a week, but this fic is fairly uncooperative so it may be less than that on occasion.

Thunder rumbled outside the Tudor style manor nestled snugly into the green overgrowth of a garden, spattering the window with little droplets of rain that threw strange shadows across the green and gold furnished room; the thick covering of the bed and the young boy sitting atop it. Fingers worrying at the plush antlers of the stuffed stag in his lap. The only toy he still possessed from his early childhood-worn but well cared for-not that he’d have been able to part with it even if he had wanted to. His father wouldn’t have allowed it to be binned as it had been made for him by his mother and still held the faintest echo of his magic.

Thinking of his father, Albus frowned. Growing up, when he’d still been small and dumb-we’ll, dumber, as he’d inherited a not inconsiderable portion of his father’s intellect-Slytherin manor had been a great castle; all that there was to the world. A lush kingdom where his father ruled as a benevolent king and his every need and desire was met. And it was in that kingdom, sheltered by his magic, that he’d grown to see the truth.

Slytherin Manor was and always had been one thing. And one thing only.

A cage.

“I wish you were here, Mum.” He said softly. Running his fingers along the slope of the stag’s neck. “You’d be able to talk to him, wouldn’t you? You’d be able to make him agree to let me go to Hogwarts.” The black bead eyes stared up at him blankly. “All I want is to get away from here. To see something of the world beyond the manor. But he won’t even let me get the letter. And he won’t hire tutors either. He’s going to teach me everything himself!” Silence was his only answer, but for the gentle patter of the rain. Albus sighed, set the plush aside on his bed and slid down onto his feet. Padding across the floor and down the hallway outside. Stopping outside his father’s office door.

A chink of light cut its way across the hall, illuminating the fluttering tapestry of dancing unicorns hung on the opposite wall. The door left slightly ajar. Slowly, so as not to risk the hinges creaking, he reached out and eased the door open that little bit further; just enough to see inside. A fire crackled in the hearth to warm the room; the source of the light. Above the mantle, looking out over the sole occupant, was a massive portrait of his mother; motionless and done in muggle style, his lithe frame was wrapped in a robe as black as his untamable hair. Hair that Albus hadn’t inherited, though his manageable curls were darker than his father’s. His eyes, too, were different; the wrong shade of green. Or maybe they weren’t and the artist had gotten them wrong.

He’d long ago accepted the fact he’d never know. Any photographs of Harry Riddle nee Potter which might have existed had been removed; locked away somewhere in a vault by his father who couldn’t bear a more accurate reminder. Who couldn’t speak more than his mother’s name before losing all vocal capability and either sending him to his room or retreating to his office to drown himself in more fire whiskey. Looking back on it now, when he was old enough to comprehend at least the barest notion of what such a thing meant, there’d always been the haze of insobriety in his father’s scarlet eyes. Even in his earliest memories.

The books called him the greatest sorcerer since Merlin. The most feared wizard in the world. He was supposed to be a Dark Lord, not...this. A broken man who’d left his country to his servants in order to hide. 

A near to empty bottle of black label sat on the corner of the desk. A tumbler full of ice and the dregs of orange liquid beside his large, white hand. Long fingers clutched white knuckled around a speckled sea stone and eyes firmly closed. His mother’s ring, the once beautiful emerald and ruby face shattered beyond repair, hung as always on a chord from his throat. He didn’t notice him as he stepped into the room and up to the heavy desk. Looking down at the scattering of papers which covered it; medical papers and research filled with jargon he couldn’t comprehend accompanied by a list of names from several of the healers who’d conducted the referenced work, written in his father’s hand.

“Albus?” He jumped and turned his head. His father had sat up in his chair and was looking down at him with scarlet eyes which couldn’t quite focus. Idly, Albus wondered how full the bottle on the desk had been before he’d started drinking it. “What are you still doing up?”

To the man’s credit he always tried to avoid having his son catch him in the act of drowning himself. 

“I’ve decided what I want for my birthday.”

“Thank Merlin.” He pulled out the top drawer and gently set the stone inside. “It is in three days. Cutting a bit close this year, love.”

“I want to go to Hogwarts.”

A moment of silence which seemed to stretch for an eternity. Then, his father let out a heavy sigh and rubbed the bridge of his nose the way he always did when he found himself exasperated. “Albus Severus, we’ve been over this.”

“But I want to go!”

“It isn’t safe.”

“It _is_ safe! All the books say it’s the safest place in Britain.”

“The safest place in Britain,” his father said sternly, “is here. I will not be having this argument with you again!”

“But-!”

“ _No!”_ His father was on his feet in an instant, and for a brief moment, Albus saw the Dark Lord who the history books had claimed had terrorized and then gone on to conquer all of wizarding Britain. But he was gone quickly as his father’s face blanched and twisted in pain. A shaking hand coming up to clutch at his chest as he sagged back into his chair. Slumping forward and taking most of the mess of papers to the floor with him. Glass shattered as the bottle toppled and fell. 

It took a split second of staring in horrified disbelief before it registered what it was that he was looking at and he lunged for the floo. Upsetting the little pot of emerald powder but managing to grab a handful and toss it into the flames. Shouting the name he’d been taught was only for the most dire of emergencies. “St. Mungo’s!” before leaping into the flames. The only practice he’d had with the floo prior to that was a handful of trips down to the lower floor of the manor since his father wouldn’t allow him out of the house and refused to leave himself, so he ended up landing in a heap in the magical hospital's waiting room. 

The room was big and bright and loud. He’d never seen so many people in one place before-certainly not people making strange sounds and sporting odd deformities like teeth on their fingers or elephant trunks growing out of their ears. In the confusion, he just started yelling. “Help! Help, please!” in the hope someone would hear him.

It didn’t take long for a woman in a blinding lime green robe to hurry over. “What ever is the matter, child?”

“I-. My father. He-.” He didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what had happened. Just that it wasn’t right. And that it was his fault; he never should have started the argument to begin with.

His distress seemed to be enough to communicate the necessary urgency because she called over two others who disappeared back through the still lit floo. Returning with a stretcher between them, looking white in the face themselves. His father wasn’t moving, his lips tinted blue. The healers disappeared into the nearest open room, disregarding the ward’s designation, but when he tried to follow the first healer steered him away into another room where he was force fed a calming draught and left to wait. Albus didn’t know how long he sat there, mind running a thousand miles a minute yet thinking of nothing, before the woman returned and led him to another room. Leaving him with a look of pity and the assurance that “he’ll wake up.”

‘He’ll wake up’, not ‘he’ll live’. The painful clenching feeling in his stomach at the thought wouldn’t be pushed away as he crossed the room and clambered up into the narrow cot beside his father. Resting his head on his chest and closing his eyes like he’d done when he was small and frightened by nightmares. Forcing himself not to think about how the rhythm of his breathing sounded strained. Rousing again hours later to the gentle touch of long fingers in his hair. 

“You’ve been crying, love.” His voice was raspy and weak. Thumb gently brushing away tears he hadn’t realized were falling. 

Albus threw his arms around his father’s neck and felt the man jump in surprise. “I’m sorry!” He whimpered into the warm skin that he found there. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you!”

“Hurt me?” He sounded scandalized. “Albus, that wasn’t accidental magic. I did that to myself. With the drink. I was looking for healers. Knew that it would...but after your mother…” he swallowed hard and ran a hand along his back. “He’d be so proud of you. And... I’m just glad you took far more after him then me.”

Albus pulled back enough to look at him in surprise. “You never talk about Mum.”

“Because it hurts. To talk about Harry, but... you deserve to know who he was. From me. While I can still tell you.” Sad red eyes looked down on him. “I don’t have much time.”

He blinked at his father in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I...suppose there’s no truly gentle way to tell you this.” The hand on his back stopped moving but remained where it fell, supporting him. “I’m dying, Albus.”

The world around him froze. Dying? His father, who’d been the only contact he’d had for his entire life aside from snakes and house elves; who’d brought an entire nation to heel and bent them to his will at wand point; who couldn’t go five minutes without telling him he loved him or ten without a glass of something strong, was…? “No.” His fingers curled in the loose robes the hospital had dressed him in. “You can’t! You...the books all said you were immortal!”

“I used to be.” With the hand not stroking his face he gripped the ring around his throat. “But I knew I couldn’t bear an eternity of grief. Eleven years was hard enough,” his father said. “They say I have a year. Maybe a few months more. But I’m unable to return home in my state; your god parents have been contacted. They’ll collect you in the morning.”

“Why can’t I go home? The house elves can take care of me.”

“No, love, the house elves cannot take care of you on their own. Your godparents were your mother’s best friends. I know they’ll look after you.”

“But-“

“Albus.” Remembering what had happened the last time he’d pressed him, he reluctantly bit his tongue. “Now, there’ll be no more arguing about this. Lie down and I’ll tell you a story about your mother.” He waited patiently for Albus to settle himself comfortably against his side. “Alright then, what would you like to hear about first, love? Our wedding? When I first realized I loved him more than anything; more than I feared death? The time the bloody Prophet thought he was cheating on me with me; that was a time and a half and he had to talk me down from publicly murdering Skeeter in the square.”

Albus fidgeted beside him. “Could you tell me how it happened? How he died?”

Beside him, his father’s body went stiff. “Why would you ever want to hear about that?”

He fidgeted again. “Because it’s the worst part.” He said. “And if we get it over with now, we can end with the good things.”

His father let out a shaky breath and reached out to stroke his hair. “In that much, you’re right. Perhaps it’s better to start with the worst of it. Besides, I’d rather you hear it from me than anyone else.” He said. “You were nearly a year old, by then, but Harry wasn’t comfortable yet leaving you for the elves to watch. Even for only a few hours. We’d cornered the rebel’s in their hole, and I left to oversee the raid in hopes of finally finishing them off…”

_“Tom Marvolo Riddle if you don’t stop hovering I will hex you red and gold! See what the rebels think of the feared Lord Voldemort while he looks like he’s been sicked on by Gryffindor Tower!”_

_He didn’t doubt for a moment that his partner would make good on his threat. Button nose wrinkled in annoyance beneath his wire framed glasses and green eyes flashing. Golden sparks shooting from the tip of his elder wand; the phoenix core, brother to his own, recycled into this new one upon Harry’s return to their world, as his holly wand had been broken in the war. He never had been fond of being smothered but he was truly a sight when he got like this, a trait said to have passed from his mother, and the considerable danger of his temper was-in Tom’s mind-worth every second of the view._

_“I can’t help myself.” Forcing his body to still from his pacing, robes flared about his feet, the Dark Lord reached out to take his face in his hands. “You’re my weakness, Harry. You and our son. And they know it.”_

_“True as that may be, Tom, you seem to have forgotten that lions have teeth too. That stags have horns. And that I gave you a bloody sight of trouble during the war._ **_And_ ** _that I’m Head Auror and can keep up with you in battle.”_

_“You’ve been away from work for a few months, between your pregnancy and recovery and bonding with Albus.”_

_“Are you suggesting that I’m rusty, Riddle?” Harry frowned at him but reached up to cover one of his hands with his own._

_“I’m suggesting that you’re mortal, my lion.” Tom's red eyes watched the reflection of light off their wedding ring; his last remaining horcrux. “While I am not. And no amount of strength will leave you immune to superior numbers.”_

_The little raven huffed, but relented the point. Thin fingers slipping down to apply a comforting pressure to his wrist. The band of the ring warm against his skin. “No one knows that we’re at Greyside, Tom. And it won’t be long before we’ll be behind wards you’re actually satisfied with; Slytherin Manor will be liveable enough to move in to by the end of the week.”_

_“But it’s not the end of the week yet.”_

_“Oh, go lead your raid you nervous wreck! Honestly, Tom, you’re worse than a nesting occamy!” Despite his tone of annoyance, Harry lifted himself up onto the platforms of his feet and pressed a kiss to his husband's cheek. “You’re my world and when you get back, Albus and I will still be here. But I will make good on my threat to hex you if_ **_you’re_ ** _still here by the time I get back from the nursery. I love you.”_

_The words rose like bile and caught in his throat. Refusing to come loose in the form that he wanted. Instead, he said “try not to hurt yourself.”_

_Again, the other wizard snorted. “The normal response when someone says I love you is ‘I love you too, dear.”_

_Tom frowned, a line creasing between his eyes. “I’d thought my actions did well enough to broadcast all that you mean to me.”_

_“They do.” Harry closed what little distance remained between them and wrapped his arms around the other man. Resting his head on his chest. “You’ve let me into the heart most people didn’t think you had. Getting to see that side of you at all is a privilege. I was only teasing.”_

_“And yet, you weren’t.” Tom rested his hands on Harry’s shoulders. “Something troubles you?”_

_“Nothing. I just...wanted to make sure you didn’t forget your promise.”_

_“To say it on your deathbed?” Harry nodded. Imperceptibly, the grip on his shoulders tightened. Tom dropped a kiss into his wild black hair; his warm breath against the top of his head made the little raven shiver. “That won’t be for a long time yet.”_

_“But it will happen. One day. Like you said, Tom, I’m mortal.” He said. “So is Albus.” The Dark Lord in his arms shifted in discomfort. “You could join us. With only one left, it wouldn’t be hard. We could grow old together and then you wouldn’t have to be left behind.”_

_Tom placed another kiss on his temple and stepped away. Retreating towards the hallway with a call of “I’ll be back in a few hours” over his shoulder. Ignoring the sad look the smaller man sent after him as he descended the stairs to the entry room and configured the wards to allow him to apparate. He landed with little more than the crackle of fabric beside Lucius on a hill in the middle of the English countryside. Sharp red eyes centering in on the building below them. “This is it?”_

_The blonde beside him nodded. “Indeed, my Lord.” He said. “It would seem this is Augury’s base of operations. How far Dumbledore’s Order has fallen.”_

_“They are no Order of the Phoenix.” For as much they spawned from their ruins. “No matter. We wipe out their resistance tonight. Let us not waste the time I could be spending with my family.”_

“I was...violent, in those days. Even settled as I had been by your mother, you don’t need to hear the details of the fight that followed our appearance.” He said. “All you need to know is that it was a distraction designed to lure me away from the manor. That they somehow knew where we’d been staying. That their plan to kill you and free him from my ‘dark influence’ was only foiled because your mother refused to stand aside. And that I rushed back to Greyside but arrived too late to save him…”

_The familiar hallways of the manor had transformed into a war zone the instant they arrived, spells firing off in all directions as his Death Eaters met with the rebel’s infesting the structure like termites. Bellatrix had torn off into the fray as soon as the chance to do so had presented. Lucius had stayed at his side for longer but he’d lost sight of his other lieutenant not long after reaching the second floor. He cut down everything which dared stand in his way but it was like fighting a hydra: each time one fell, two more rose to take their place. He could hear voices at the end of the hall but progress was horrifically slow. As if he were running through mud. Trapped in a nightmare._

_“Move!”_

_“No!”_

_“Get out of the bloody way!”_

_“Never!”_

_“I won’t say it again, Potter!_ **_Move_ ** _!”_

_“You’ll have to kill me first if you want to lay a finger on my son!”_

_He’d heard words like those before. From another who’d refused to save herself. And he knew what words came next. Yet he wasn’t ready for them, even as they were spoken. “Avada Kedavra!”_

_As the blinding flash of green tore through the hall around him, time seemed to simultaneously slow to a crawl and flash forward to a dizzying rush. Cracks of apparition fired off all around him. Someone, probably him, screamed; a raw sound of rage and pain as something deep inside him broke._

_Their son was wailing in his crib when he rounded the corner, so he knew the boy was alive. Red eyes dismissing him for the time being and dropping to his consort. Like his mother before him, the little raven lay crumpled and motionless on the floor. Silent when he called his name. Unresponsive and cold as he fell to his knees and pulled his body into his arms. Eyes unseeing and fixed into the distance. With shaking hands, he pulled the horcrux from his finger and gathered him close. Shattering beneath the weight of three words and a broken promise._

_“I love you.” Surely after all he’d done in his life this was some form of cosmic justice. And maybe he deserved it. But surely this was too cruel, even for fate to stomach. “I’ve always loved you.” But no matter how often he said it now, it would always be too late. “I’m so sorry, Harry.”_

“I knew they weren’t finished. Knew they’d be back. Slytherin Manor was better protected, but we’d thought they couldn’t find us there too. It was my leaving which had emboldened them to attack. So, as badly as I wanted to hunt them down and make them pay, I couldn’t bear to leave you. Nor to let you leave. I...let them get away.” His father paused to swallow thickly through a clenched jaw. “I’ve been a horrible father. I’m sorry.”

Albus shifted around enough to sling his arms once more around his neck. “I don’t think you're a horrible father.”

A rictus smile and yet another heavy sigh. “You’ll grow out of it.”

The silence of early morning settled in around them like a weight.


	2. Family Ties

Albus didn’t want to wake up.

In his dreams, he was safely back at home in Slytherin Manor. His father fit and strong and proud, the way he’d once been. His mother, whom he only knew from what little mention of him the once Dark Lord could bear to make and a single painting hung above the office mantle, alive and smiling. There was no terrible loss to reduce the ferocious Basilisk of Britain to a broken shell of grief and regret. No too-clean hospital room which smelled strongly of dried herbs and Pepper Up Potion. No impending future where he was left to bury the only family he had left, the only family he’d ever truly known, and go forward into the world alone.

Albus didn’t want to wake up, but he knew he didn’t have a choice. So it was only with reluctance that he opened his eyes and stretched. Popping all of his joints before looking up at his father. The man didn’t look any better than he’d been when they’d collapsed back into sleep a handful of hours before sunrise after the end of his harrowing tale, but he also didn’t look worse so all things considered it was probably a good sign.

Noticing his gaze, his father reached up and cradled his face in his hands. Gently running his thumbs along the jutt of his cheekbones. “You have your mother’s eyes.” Spoken like something too sacred to risk being overheard or, perhaps, some dire form of blasphemy. “Harry...he loved you more than anything. More than  _ anything _ . And he would be so,  _ so _ proud of you.”

For what? What had he done except live when he shouldn’t have, because his mother had thrown his own life away to protect him. Aside from push an issue better left alone, leading his already ailing father who still loved him in spite of him causing the death of the man who’d so clearly been his world to narrowly avoid dying on the study’s floor?

As if reading his mind, the older man’s brow creased and he dragged himself upright. Pulling Albus close against his chest and holding him there, tight but not painful. “Harry’s death was my fault, Albus. Not yours. I never should have gone on that raid. I should have stayed. I should have been the one who died.” Long fingers gently worked themselves between the divots of his spine; a comforting pressure against muscle and bone. “I let my pride and anger get the better of me. Became blinded by my arrogance. And I paid an unimaginable price. I’ll be damned if I allow even a portion of that tithe to land undeservingly on your shoulders. Am I understood?”

Reluctant, when it became clear that his father was expecting an answer, Albus nodded against his chest. The man let out a heavy sigh. 

“Your godparents won’t be long, now. You’re to behave for them. Am I understood?”

Frowning into the front of his father’s loose robe, Albus grumbled “don’t misbehave.” The Dark Lord laughed, the sound lacking the rich undertone it had held in his younger years. Sounding tired, now. Ill, much like the rest of him.

Hecate’s mercy, his father was dying. He was  _ dying _ . It hadn’t been a nightmare. He was going to be an orphan. He was going to be  _ alone _ .

Some shade of his fear must have shown on his face, or in his eyes, because his father’s large, strong, faintly shaking hand ran through his dark curls in an offer of comfort. “Even when I’m gone, there will be others who love you. If the precious time I was given by your mother’s side taught me anything it’s that family is more than blood.” He said. “You won’t be alone, Albus. Not unless you make the choice to be. Like I did, in my youth. And I hope you don’t. You may very well be the heir to my position, for all that I’ve failed to prepare you to lead, but that doesn’t mean you have to walk my path for every step.”

If Albus had a choice in matters he wouldn’t be ‘walking’ anywhere. He’d be staying right there. Where he had been in his life just a day ago. Safely in the confines of the manor with his father watching over him and homeschooling in his future. As badly as he’d wanted a taste of freedom, a chance to see the place where both his parents had taken their seven-or, in his mother’s case, six-years of education, he’d trade anything for the chance to avoid landing himself there, in that moment. In a hospital bed at St. Mungo’s with his father dying, more and more, with every passing moment.

His grip on the loose fabric of his robe tightened. “I don’t want to.”

Washed out crimson eyes regarded him in confusion. “Don’t want to what?”

“I don’t want to go.” He said, voice wavering as his eyes began to burn. “I don’t want to go with them. I don’t want to go with anyone. I want to stay here with you.”

“My sweet little snake.” There was a tone to his voice now which sounded both world weary and incredibly patient. The hand which had been in his hair stroking down his back now. “I've still got some fight left in me yet. This won’t be the last time you see me. I promise I won’t leave without giving you a chance to say goodbye.” Albus relinquished his grip on the robe in favor of wrapping his arms around his father’s body. The faint trace of ribs pressing into his skin. “I don’t care.” He grumbled. “I’m not leaving!”

“Albus-.”

“No!”

“Your godparents are no doubt thrilled by the chance to see you again after all these years. They loved you so much. When you were very young, your mother had them around Greyside Manor as often as he could.” There was the slightest painful catch to his father’s voice when he said ‘your mother’. “They’ll be so very disappointed if you won’t go and stay with them for a while. I know they’ll be able to look after you very well. They were able to keep a helion like Harry safe from me for seven years.”

The books he’d read had mentioned that his parents, before they’d been in love, had once been enemies but their descriptions of the first and second war had been kept incredibly vague. And Albus just couldn’t make sense of it in his mind when paired alongside the soul crushing grief his father had suffered his entire life. He opened his mouth to once more deny any intention to leave him there in that too white ward alone but before he could a knock came on the door and his father called out permission to come in.

The hinges creaked slightly as the door swung inwards and a tall man in a dark robe stepped into view. Grey hairs all but unnoticeable in his long, platinum blonde mane. “My Lord,” he said, “the Weasleys are here.”

“Thank you, Lucius.” His father nodded in the man’s direction. “Let them in, please.”

“Of course, my Lord. I’ll let them know you’ll see them.” The Death Eater disappeared from Albus’ line of sight. A moment later the door swung open again and permitted two people, this time, into the room. A tall lanky man with red hair and blue eyes, his face spattered with freckles, and a woman with bushy hair and big brown eyes. Both of them looked at Albus with matching expressions on their faces-something unplaceable to him, but faintly sad-and then directed gazes towards his father which reminded him of the way a bird would look at a snake as it sunned on a rock.

“Did you come alone,” his father asked the pair, “or are there others with you?”

“Ginny.” The man said. “Figured you might want to go over something before we left and maybe that you wouldn’t want Albus to hear-?”

“Ginevra always was intelligent.” Something to the tint of his father’s expression made Albus think he couldn’t say the same of the man. Red eyes turned to him and he gently pried his grip free. “I need you to go out into the hallway, little love. There will be a woman there with long red hair who will watch you for awhile. I need to speak with your Godparents before they go.”

“Can’t I stay, father?” he turned a pleading green gaze on the man but he just looked at him sadly and shook his head. Kissing his forehead and lightly pushing him towards the door.

“Go, Albus. We’re going to speak of things you needn’t know until you’re older. This won’t take them long.”

“I’ll take you to Ginny, Al.” He hadn’t heard that nickname used in four years. The bushy haired witch smiled at him and offered him her hand. “She’ll be just as happy to see you again as we are. And I’m sure she’ll be able to find something for the two of you to do while we talk with your father.” Albus caught the brief look of panic the man sent his wife over the prospect of being left there alone but disregarded him quickly and took her hand. When she tried to tug him away, though, he grabbed onto the side of the bed.

“I can write to you, can’t I?”

His father nodded. “As often as you’d like. And I’ll write you back, every time, until I can no longer hold a quill.” He promised. “Now, go with your godmother. Be good.”

Reluctantly releasing his hold he allowed himself to be led out of the room and into the hall outside. In his panic he hadn’t paid it much mind the night before but now that he really had the chance to look Albus found it to be depressing in its stark clinical nature. The walls and floors were both an antiseptic shade of white and the only splotches of color to break up the monotony came in the form of portraits of mediwitches and mediwizards and the Death Eaters in full uniform who stood guard at the end of the hall. Neither reacted as they passed them by, the silver skull masks on their faces reflecting the overhead light of the private waiting room.

He didn’t remember this from the chaos of his arrival. Had they been moved while he’d been asleep?

His train of thought was derailed when the witch who’d been occupying one of the small handful of chairs rose to her feet. Long hair a cascade of fire down her back. Her eyes were brown instead of blue like her brother’s but she regarded him with the same sorrow that the other two-his godparents-had.

“Merlin’s mercy.” She said. “He has Harry’s eyes.”

“And Tom’s hair, it looks like.” His godmother ran a hand through his hair as she spoke, upsetting the curls and earning a grunt of displeasure from him which made both women chuckle. “Though it could pass for Potter hair, sticking up like that.”

“It really could.” The red haired witch smiled, then, but it looked watery. Like she was holding back a faded grief. “Hello, Albus. I’m Ginny.”

Shifting in discomfort at being the center of so much attention, Albus grumbled something which might have been meant as a hello and scuffed his feet against the ground.

“He wants to talk to us before we leave, so it will probably be another few minutes before we go back to the Burrow.”

“Don’t worry about it, Hermione.” Ginny reassured her. “I brought a deck. We can play a couple rounds of Exploding Snap, or I can teach him how to play if he doesn’t already know. Now you should hurry back and save Ronald from the dragon.”

“Honestly. Sometimes I think he forgets that we’re Gryffindors.” Hermione said. “We’ll be back as soon as the ‘Basilisk of Britain’ is finished with whatever he might have to say.”

“Better not to keep him waiting while he can still use his wand. We’ll be alright.”

Nodding once more, Hermione turned and made her way between the stationed Death Eaters. Back down the hall and into the Dark Lord’s room. Ron almost collapsed in relief when he noticed her return. For a long moment after the door had clicked shut in her wake silence reigned. Then, the broken remnants of what had once been the darkest wizard alive spoke.

“You’ll look after him, won’t you? Once I’m gone.”

“You think Harry would have made us his godparents if we weren’t willing to take him in?” Ron visibly cringed when slit pupiled eyes-once a vibrant scarlet, now dull and tired-turned on him. “There’s also that prat Draco who you made godfather on your end.”

“He wouldn’t accept Bella so I made due with what I had.” For a moment, before sinking back into the ashes of another time, Tom had sounded like he used to. Back when he’d ruled, harsh but fairly with the help of Harry’s influence, as Minister for Magic. Before the wake of the attack on Greyside Manor which had chased him into hiding for over a decade. “He’s heir to both our names and a trust was set up for him, before…” he swallowed thickly. “The goblins have his vault key. Tuition to Hogwarts has also been seen to.”

“We’ll make sure he has everything he needs. You have our word.”

“For Harry’s sake.” That it certainly wasn’t for his went unsaid. “You have questions?”

“The locket, ring and diary were all destroyed. And you reabsorbed the ones in the diadem, cup and snake. But you still have the one you took out of Harry don’t you?”

“What Ron means to say,” Hermione quickly cut in before the Dark Lord’s temper could be tread on, “is that we’re a little bit confused as to how you can be dying when we know you still have one Horcrux left. The wedding ring. The one you buried with him.”

“It wasn’t buried with him.” Tom reached up and tugged, gently, on a cord around his neck they hadn’t noticed before. The ring coming free to rest in the palm of his hand, stone setting shattered and charred. 

Hermione couldn’t contain a gasp of shock, eyes going wide. “You destroyed it?”

“After the funeral. It's easy enough, as the Heir of Slytherin, to come by basilisk fangs.” Tom tucked the destroyed Horcrux back out of sight. “I’ve feared death for my entire life. But when I lost Harry, I realized that  _ Dumbledore _ ,” a faint snarl invaded his voice at the invocation of the once Headmaster’s name “had been right to say there are things in the world that are so much worse. I split my soul seven times, albeit the last unknowingly. I wandered for years as a disembodied wraith. I reabsorbed three Horcruxes. But I never truly felt as if I were missing a piece of my soul until he died. And I certainly didn’t have the faintest clue what pain was. I tried to go on because Albus needed me but I couldn’t live without...this was inevitable. I’d just hoped he’d be of age when the time came for me to go.” He tore his eyes away from them to glare down at his hands, clasped in his lap. “I hid from my own pain. Abandoned my son when he still needed me. Magic or not, I’m no better than my own father was in the end. And I hate myself for it.”

Tom Riddle Senior. The anathema to everything that he, Tom Marvolo Riddle, Lord Voldemort, had wanted and strived for. And the very thing that he, in the end, had become.

“I grow tired.” He turned his head away from them fully to glare at the opposite wall. “Leave me. Take Albus elsewhere. He’s spent enough time in this...place.”

The dismissal was sudden but, nonetheless, starkly clear and the two Gryffindors wasted no time in heeding it. Letting the door fall shut behind them and headed away down the hall. Past the silent Death Eaters, honor guard to their dying Lord, and into the waiting room. Ginny sat with Albus against the opposite wall with a conjured table between them, alternating turns of Snap by passing the little boy her wand.

There was so much of their friend visible in his son: the green eyes, the dark shade of his hair, the slightness of his build compared to his father’s. They could still remember Harry as he’d been in the last months of his life, little Albus cradled in his arms and wed to a monster with a man’s face but happier than he’d ever been. After so long he’d finally had a family of his own, only for it all to be cruelly ripped away at wand point. The child before them the legacy he’d died to protect.

“Ready to go?”

Albus startled and dropped Ginny's wand onto the table. Orange sparks shedding from the tip and nearly lighting a card marked with a Welsh Green on fire. His sister quickly picked up her wand and stowed it away after gathering the deck and banishing the table. “We just finished up a round, so I’d say we are.” She lowered the pitch of her voice so as not to be overhead by the onlooking boy. “What did that snake faced git want?”

“To make sure Albus would be looked after. And to let us know he has a vault set up at Gringotts.” Hermione set a gentle hand on Albus’ shoulder, successfully drawing green eyes back from the hall. “The last one...he destroyed it.”

Ginny’s brown eyes widened. “Bloody hell. I never imagined...I just never thought-.”

“He really loved him?” Ron offered and shook his head. “Harry believed he did, even though he’d never say it. I didn’t know what to think, but he was happy. And it wasn’t worth fighting about it when it made him smile like that.”

“It would have just upset it. And then you’d have wound up with Voldemort busting down your door.” Ginny sighed and brushed her hair back over her shoulder. “We should go. Everyone is waiting at the Burrow to meet him and I’m sure Mum’s getting anxious: you know how she gets.”

Hermione looked down at him again. “You know how to use the Floo?” Albus nodded. “Alright. Let’s head over to the hearth, then.”

‘Heading over to the hearth’ led them out of the private waiting room and back into the crowded chaos of the main lobby. One of the silent Death Eaters falling in behind them like a black shadow, preventing anyone-mediwizard or patient off the street-from doing more than glancing in their direction. Lifting down the little pot of Floo Powder from the top of the mantle and taking a pinch before offering it to him.

“Alright, since you’re able to use it I won’t worry about going over the finer details. Just watch Ron and pay attention to where he asks to go.”

Ron had taken a pinch of the powder as well and stepped into the hearth. Dropping it into the coals and sending emerald flames licking up around his feet. “The Burrow!”

He disappeared in a flash of flame. Ginny a moment behind. Hermione encouraged him-unnecessarily-to step in next and Albus did so. Dropping in his pinch of powder and calling out the destination like his father had taught him. The sickening spinning sensation swamping his awareness and a blur of color overtaking his view of the hospital outside. Ultimately, after either an instant or an age, he ended up spat out into an uneven stone hearth where he stumbled slightly but kept his feet.

Ron’s hand found his shoulder and steadied him. “You’re better at that than Harry ever was.” He said, flashing another sad smile. “He was my best mate and a bloody brilliant wizard but couldn’t stay upright out of a Floo to save his life.”

His mother had had trouble with the floo? Albus turned back to look at the hearth just in time for the embers inside to flare once more and allow Hermione out into the room. A kitchen, now that he took the time to look around; small but clean and cozy. There were no House Elves in sight. Before he could open his mouth to question the matter a portly greying witch with a kind rosy face appeared in the doorway and rushed over.

“Oh, goodness! You’re back! Is this him?”

“Yes, Mum.” Ron sounded half exasperated. Ginny snickered from the doorway, having re-entered the room as well. “This is him.”

The witch had pulled him into a crushing hug before he could process what was happening and squeezed the breath out of him in a half-disgruntled squeak. His father had hugged him often, always gently, as if simultaneously unsure how to properly conduct himself while offering affection and terrified that he would break, and it had never once been anything like this. He squirmed. The woman released him and stepped back to arm’s length. “Hello, darling! The last time I saw you, you were only a few months old! You’ve gotten so big; Arthur will be back from the Ministry soon to meet you. Are you hungry?”

It was at that moment that his stomach rumbled and he recalled that he hadn’t eaten anything since dinner the night before and, from the slant of the sunlight spilling in through the window, it looked to be somewhere just past noon. “Yes, Mrs. Weasley.”

“Oh, your mother used to insist on calling me that, too. Took years to get him to call me Mum.” She said. “Just call me grandma, dear.” With a swish of her wand, a bowl of hearty stew and a large chunk of bread came flying across the kitchen to land neatly in front of him. “I’ll need to add you to the clock as well, before you head off to Hogwarts. You are family after all.”

“Don’t smother him, Mum.” Ginny claimed one of the empty seats. “He’s had no one around but Riddle for 11 years. I doubt he’s used to contact.”

Albus didn’t know what history she had with his father to lead her to talk about him with such a stark tone but assumed it had something to do with the events of the Second Wizarding War. Tearing off a chunk of bread, he shoved it into his mouth.

“Maybe don’t broadcast your dislike of Riddle around his kid, Gin.” Ron said. “Everything else aside, he is his father.”

She sent him a brief, almost guilty glance. Albus shifted uncomfortably again. “Should I go tell Rosie and Hugo to come down?”

“Let him finish eating.” Hermione said. “We don’t want to overwhelm him.” A wave of her own wand summoned stew and bread over from the counter for all three of them.

There was silence for a moment before Albus finished another bite of bread and asked “what did you mean that you needed to add me to the clock? What clock?”

“One moment, dear.” Mrs. Weasley got up from the table and waddled out of the room. Returning a few moments later with a wooden clock in her hands which she set on the table in front of him. “I had this made during the First War. So that I’d always know if something happened. It’s been a help in saving lives before.”

There were thirteen hands-two gold and eleven silver-each pointing to a variety of different labels lining the top of the clock. One marked ‘Arthur’ indicated ‘work’. Those marked ‘Ron’, ‘Hermione’, ‘Ginevra’, ‘Molly’, ‘Rose’ and ‘Hugo’ pointed at ‘home’. The two golden hands, labeled ‘Fred’ and ‘Harry’, pointed to ‘lost’. Albus searched the hands for signs of his father’s name, but found none.

A not inconsiderable part of him wasn’t surprised.

“Is it hard to add a hand to the clock?”

“Not at all, dear. It will only take a few minutes; I’ll be able to do it tonight.” She said. “Are you finished? Did you get enough? Would you like more stew?”

“No thank you, Mrs.-Grandma.” Albus hastily amended.

“Alright, well, if you insist. Harry was a little thing too so I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.” Banishing the remnants of his meal, Mrs. Weasley turned to Ginny. “Would you mind taking Albus up to meet Rosie and Hugo? I have a few questions for these two regarding what the Dark Lord had to say.”

“Alright, Mum.” Ginny got up as well. “Why don’t you come upstairs with me, dear.”

Albus was used to the expansive maze-like corridors, open rooms and lush gardens of Slytherin Manor so the Burrow, with its closed in halls and small rooms haphazardly set about at odd angles, was starkly different than anything he’d ever encountered before. After leading him up a narrow staircase, past a few landings and down another hall to a closed door, she she reached up to knock.

“Rosie, is your brother in there with you?”

After a muffled noise like something heavy being moved, a girl’s voice called “yes aunt Ginny.”

“Your cousin Albus is here.” Cousin? Sure, his mother had clearly been someone who this unfamiliar clan of wizards thought of as family but was that really what he was to them when they weren’t actually related? “He’ll be staying with you and Hugo for the next few days, before you all head off to Hogwarts, while your mother and father set up a room for him back home.” She said. “Make sure he feels welcome, understand? That goes for both of you.”

“Yes aunt Ginny.”

Ginny offered him a smile and ran her fingers through his hair again, once more upsetting his curls. “Have fun with your cousins. If you need anything feel free to let one of us know.”

Albus shuffled his feet and grumbled something which he hoped was passable as an affirmative. Stepping through the door when she opened it for him.

The room was located on the third floor, and occupied by three beds. The window provided a view of green grass and a Muggle town, off in the distance. Beside it stood a girl with red hair and a strong resemblance to Hermione, who bounded across the rickety wooden floor to greet him with a smile. A boy who looked to be about two years their junior watched them from atop the middle bed, blue eyes all but buried under a crown of brown hair.

“Hi! I’m Rose. But most people just call me Rosie. You’re Al, right? Al Potter?”

“Albus Severus.” He eyed her outstretched hand for a moment before hesitantly reaching out to take it. “Riddle.” Her palm was warm and dry and she possessed a surprisingly firm grip. He winced slightly when the resultant handshake nearly dislocated his arm.

“Riddle?” she repeated. “But that’s the Basilisk’s name.”

“The Basilisk of Britain is my father.”

“But he’s a monster!” The boy piped up from where he sat on the bed. “Fred says that he kidnaps little kids who don’t behave and-.”

“ _ Hugo! _ ” Albus flinched at her sudden shout.

“Er...sorry?”

“My little brother doesn’t always know how not to put his foot in his mouth. Mum says he gets it from dad.” Rose said. “We really don’t mean any offense by it, it’s just...the Dark Lord is like a villain from a fairy tale to most people. It’s hard to think of him as human.” A pause. “Fred is our older cousin, by the way. You’ll meet him eventually. If he’s mean to you let me know and I’ll punch him.”

Albus couldn’t keep a semi-reluctant smile from tugging up on the corners of his lips. “The books I was allowed to read on the First and Second Wars never went into much detail about what he did.” He said. “He’s never been anything but kind to me. Even if he’s a ‘villain from a fairy tale’ to everyone else, he’ll always be the man who taught me to read and fly a broom.”

“You can fly?” Hugo pushed himself off the bed.

“Yeah.” Albus said. “Father could fly with just his magic; he never taught me that but I do know how to use a broom.”

“Rosies good at flying too!”

“Well...I’m not  _ bad _ at flying.” The girl’s cheeks had tinted faintly pink. “And I wouldn’t mind playing Quidditch for Gryffindor once we’re old enough. Maybe as a Chaser.”

“You’re so certain of the House that you’ll be in?”

“Well, everyone in my family has been in Gryffindor so it’s more likely than not that I’ll be a lion too.” Rose said. “You’ll probably be one as well, considering who your mother was.”

“I’m also the Heir of Slytherin. Blood alone will probably land me in Snake House.” Albus said. “I hope that’s not a problem.”

Hugo looked slightly pale but Rose shook her head. “Not all Slytherins are bad.” She said. “Draco Malfoy, for example. He’s the Head of the Auror Department, now, and used to be your mother’s partner.”

“Dad says he’s a ‘ferret git’.”

“And mum says that he’s turned out to be a very nice man but that, yes, he was a ‘ferret git’ in school.”

Albus was unable to contain a snort of laughter. He’d still rather none of this had happened, but maybe where he’d ended up wouldn’t be so bad. “Weren’t we talking about flying?”

“ _ We should go play Quidditch!” _ Hugo yelped before taking off out of the room.

Rose just sighed and shook her head.

“We won’t be able to do much playing with only three of us, will we?”

“No.” She said. “But dad and aunt Ginny played when they were in school and might be willing to play with us. And the Scamanders live nearby: Lorcan and Lysander will probably be willing to play as well. Are you alright with more people?”

He’d already met more people than he’d known before in his life within the last hour. What would a few more do? “‘S fine.”

By the time they made it back downstairs Hugo had already torn through the kitchen like a hurricane and the only adult left behind was Mrs. Weasley.

“Ron and Ginny have gone out with Hugo to collect the brooms from the shed. Hermione went to stop by the Scamanders to collect the twins and should be back to join you soon.” She said. “Oh, and Albus dear, one of your father’s elves stopped by with your things. I’ll bring it up to your room while you all are busy. Which bed is he sleeping in, Rosie?”

“The one by the window, grandma.” She looked to Albus, then. “I thought you’d like that. It gives a great view of the stars at night.” Albus just nodded. “Come on. I’ll take you down to the field.”

The Burrow, like Slytherin Manor, had a garden though it was much smaller and largely consisted of herbs and vegetables. Briefly, before it darted out of sight beneath the overhanging leaves of a tomato plant, he thought he might have caught sight of a gnome. A variety of clutter littered the short cut grass, largely old boots and broken pots, and a handful of white chickens milled about the area. A few watched him pass with wary black eyes. Rose led him past a shed which, he assumed, had been housing the brooms that they’d be using and down a short slope to an open field where the others had gathered. Hermione in the company of another woman and two pale haired boys.

“Hello Albus.” Hermione said on catching sight of their approach. “This is Luna, another of Harry’s friends from school, and her two sons Lorcan and Lysander.”

“Your mother was very kind to me, back then. And he made your father better for being with him.” Luna said, though her pale blue eyes seemed to be fixed on a point somewhere just over his shoulder. “He liberated the Heliopaths that the Ministry had been holding captive as weapons. And he kept his laws fair, because of Harry’s influence.”

Albus hadn’t the slightest clue what a Heliopath was supposed to be or why the Ministry might have been holding them captive to begin with. Hermione just shook her head and, once certain Luna wasn’t looking, rolled her eyes. “Ron and Ginny should have finished setting everything up by now. Why don’t the four of you go and grab brooms.”

“Yes, Mum.” Rose was quick to agree and began to lead them away. Honestly it couldn't have been more than a handful of yard’s distance but that was still, apparently, enough time for one of the other boys to say something stupid.

“Is it true?”

Albus blinked in confusion and looked down at him. “Is what true?”

“Is it true? That your father can kill someone just by looking at them?” he asked. “That that’s why they call him the Basilisk? That anyone who looks him in the eye is doomed?”

“I’ve looked him in the eye plenty of times.” Albus said. “And I’m perfectly alright. So no. It isn’t true.”

“I heard they call him the Basilisk because he’s venomous.” Said the other boy. “That he has fangs and a forked tongue, like a snake. And that he’s covered in scales.”

“My father is not venomous!” Albus snapped. “And, no, he doesn’t have fangs or scales!”

“You didn’t deny that his tongue is forked, though.” Rose earned herself the best glare that he could possibly muster but didn’t quail in the least. “Is that part true?”

“Yes.” he admitted. “Slightly. So is mine. It’s a part of being a born Parselmouth.”

Over exclamations of awe and requests to see from the two younger boys, Rose asked “do snakes have much to say? And could you maybe say something? I’d like to hear it. Parseltongue, I mean.”

“Leave poor Albus alone, guys.” There was something faintly strained buried in Ginny’s tone. “Grab your brooms and we’ll kick off. There won’t be any snitch or bludgers because of our proximity to the Muggles but we can toss the quaffle around for a bit.” The brooms on offer were a handful of Nimbus 2001s, old but well kept. Albus called one to hand and felt the worn polish of the handle beneath his fingertips. “Alright, then. One. Two. Three!”

They circled a set of improvised goal posts for a couple of hours and tossed the quaffle about between them. The Nimbus wasn’t as fast as the Firebolt which had once belonged to his mother but it was reliable and responsive and by the time they landed as the sun was setting Albus found that he’d honestly enjoyed himself.

Mr. Weasley had returned home at some point during their game and, after introducing himself and inviting him to call him grandfather, they’d all sat down to eat together. Once dinner had finished Rose and Hugo excused themselves and headed back up to the room where they’d be staying but when Albus moved to follow them he instead found himself swept out onto the porch by his godparents. A cold bottle of butter beer pressed into his hand.

“Don’t think you’re in trouble or anything, mate. You’re not. We just wanted to...well,” with the hand not holding his own bottle, Ron pushed his red bangs back from his face. “How much did he tell you? About Harry?”

“That he made my stag for me. That he insisted the portrait of him in father’s office be painted by a Muggle, and refused to let him bin it even though the colors ended up being off. That I remind him of him. And that he died protecting me during an attack.” With some difficulty Albus managed to pop the lid off his butterbeer and took a drink. The golden liquid was fizzy and sweet and tasted faintly of butter scotch, though not as sickly. “He could barely say his name most of the time. And when he tried to talk about him he’d usually only manage a few words before hiding in his office for a few hours.” Often in the company of a bottle.

“So you don’t know a lot about Harry?” Hermione asked. Albus shook his head and took another drink. “He was an amazing man. A loyal friend. He loved you more than anything. And he loved your father more than he deserved.”

“We met on the train. On the Hogwarts Express.” Ron said. “The hat tried to put him in Slytherin but he convinced it better and ended up in Gryffindor.”

He looked at the red headed man in surprise. “He almost ended up in Snake House too?”

“And it would have been a ruddy nightmare. Can you imagine, ‘Mione? What Harry would have been like as a Slytherin?”

“Snake House isn’t bad now.” Hermione said. “But back during the Second War, and the years directly preceding it, the mainly pureblood families whose children made up the majority of its population led it to be a place of prejudice with which few in the other three Houses wanted to associate.”

“In other words, it was full of mini Death Eater ponces.”

“Ronald!”

“Right. Right. Sorry, ‘Mione.”

“Harry had his fair share of trouble from the Snakes. Largely at the hands of his then rival, Draco Malfoy, and the Head of their House and then Potions Professor, Severus Snape.” Hermione said. “Severus later went on to prove himself a far more noble man than any of us had ever given him credit for. Harry respected him as a hero, considered him one of the bravest men he’d ever known, and named you after him. Alongside our former Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore.”

“Harry was a brilliant wizard. A prodigy in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Could cast a corporeal Patronus-a stag-at the age of 13 which was strong enough to drive off hundreds of dementors at once. And he was prophesied to save our world by defeating your father.”

But that hadn’t happened. Somehow, at some point, they’d fallen in love instead. His godparents must have been able to read the shift of his thoughts on his face because they exchanged a glance and sighed. 

“After the Second Wizarding War broke out in earnest, we helped Harry to hunt down the anchors to immortality that your father had created through Dark Magic. We destroyed one of them. Found and stole two more and took the fight to Hogwarts but your father broke through the defenses we erected around the castle.” Hermione said. “We managed to hold our ground but at great cost. We weren’t able to get what we’d believed was the last anchor and ultimately discovered that, when your father had tried to kill Harry as an infant, he’d accidentally made him another.”

“He didn’t want to die if he could avoid it.” Ron said. “And he didn’t want anyone else to die. So instead of continuing to fight, he reached out to your father for a truce…”

_ The ceasefire had fallen over the castle’s ruined halls like a miasma of cloying anxiety. Clinging to the fabric of his lungs and burning his throat like acid as he breathed. The chill brought on by the near presence of dementors raised goosebumps along the bare skin of his arms as he stood in the courtyard, Ron and Hermione as always at his side. The students, Professors and other defenders of the ancient school gathered behind him on the stairs. Opposite them, flanked by Bellatrix and Fenrir Greyback, Nagini wrapped around his shoulders and with a backdrop of his black clad followers, stood Voldemort. Watching his every twitch with burning crimson eyes. _

_ When the clocktower overhead chimed the last tolling of the hour, Sword of Gryffindor in one hand and with the cup-concealed beneath a cloak-in his other the little raven at last stepped forward. Scattered bits of fallen rubble clattering away around the scuffed trainers on his feet as he moved. Voldemort, too, moved forward. The two wizards stopping just out of reach of one another. _

_ “You called for a ceasefire. And I, a merciful Lord, have allowed it. If only to give you the chance to bury your dead.” The Dark Lord hissed. “You seek too much if you desire more than that. I’ve already given you a chance to surrender.” _

_ “And we don’t intend to ‘surrender’.” Harry said. “I want this war to end. It’s not worth so much death when there’s already so few of us. Surely you can see that, too.” _

_ “We are, indeed, few. And I never wanted to shed magical blood. But it was you, Potter, and Albus Dumbledore who forced my hand.” Voldemort said. “I will not extend mercy to those who would undermine my authority. And there is nothing you can do, or offer me, that will change that.” _

_ Allowing the cloak to fall away and reveal the cup in his hand, he raised the venom-imbued sword threateningly towards it. Voldemort did a good job of hiding his horrified reaction, but his red eyes betrayed him. “I take it that you know of just how many of those I made if you’re aware that they exist. Why do you think merely threatening one will get you anywhere?” _

_ “Because if you didn’t feel the need to have and preserve multiple safeguards you wouldn’t have made more than one. The diary, locket and ring are all gone. We have the diadem as well as the cup.” _

_ Anger was beginning to hiss, sharp and hot, across their link and it was all Harry could do to keep himself from wincing. “My desire for redundancies is ultimately insufficient reason to surrender my life’s work to you, brat.” _

**_“:Maybe this will convince you.:”_ **

_ Voldemort reeled back like a concussed snake. The Death Eaters behind him rustling where they stood. “How do you speak the tongue of serpents?” He demanded. “That’s the gift of Slytherin’s bloodline!” _

_ “It’s because of ‘the power the Dark Lord knows not’. The power you gave me when you failed to kill me in Godric’s Hollow.” He said. “ _ **_:You made a seventh Horcrux by mistake. Dumbledore never told me, but I’ve recently come to learn that to defeat you I’d have to die and I don’t much fancy doing that.:_ ** _ I’m sure you, better than anyone else, can understand.” _

_ A riot of emotion was vibrating through their link. Fear. Confusion. Disbelief. More anger. It felt as if his head was being crushed in a vice. Harry resisted the urge to reach up and rub his scar. When the Dark Lord spoke again, at last, it was with icy finality. “What is it that you want? And what is it that you’d offer me in return?” _

_ “A magically binding treaty. To end this.” He said. “You can have the Minister’s seat. You can have Wizarding Britain. I don’t care about any of it! But I want provisions in place to keep you from destroying our society! To give Muggleborns rights. And to make certain you don’t do something bloody stupid, like attempting to dissovle the International Statute of Secrecy the second you have the chance, or kill all of the Muggles. In return, I’ll return the cup and diadem. And give you the sword. And whatever else you might want from me.” _

_ A prickle of danger shot down his spine as Voldemort regarded him. “I want your magic bound. I want you gone from our world. And I want an unbreakable vow that you will  _ **_never_ ** _ return.” _

_ Cries of outrage went up from the assembled defenders behind them, but Harry just bowed his head and stepped forward. Handing over the cup and sword, mindful not to touch any of the Dark Lord’s taloned fingers. “I accept.” It would achieve, in the end, the best result for both of them. For Voldemort it would effectively be as if he had killed Harry. And Harry would get to live, though it wouldn’t be as a part of the world to which he really belonged. _

_ In the end, it was a small price to pay. _

“Harry had a bit of a ‘saving people’ thing.” Hermione said around a sad smile. “He was always ready to suffer if he thought it meant protecting someone else. So he agreed to your father’s demand and, after the treaty was signed, underwent a blood ritual to lock away his magic and disappeared into the Muggle World.”

“But he came back.” Albus said. “He had to have. But how. They wouldn’t call unbreakable vows unbreakable if they could be broken.”

“Unbreakable vows can’t be broken, no. But they can be mutually released.” Hermione said. “Your father ruled alone for five years, but it was never without opposition. Opposition which grew worse with each passing day until the climate once again threatened bloodshed. But even he didn’t want to see mass death again, so he turned to the only person he thought might be able to quell the descent: your mother.”

“He hunted him down in secret. Had a new wand made for him and released the bonds on his magic. It was a bloody great surprise when we were all but ordered to attend the inauguration of the new Head Auror-who by then had basically become the Dark Lord’s First Talon and right hand-and found out who it was.” Ron said. “I’d thought I’d never see my best mate again.”

“He gave your father hell and a half every chance he got.” Hermione said. “I worked under him for a time. In his office. And sometimes it was a wonder he didn’t end up hexed bloody. Especially the day he called him ‘Tommy Boy’ in front of Rita Skeeter. But Harry never gained a scratch.” She turned the bottle in her hands. “I’m not certain how it happened, or when it happened, but one day they were so deeply enamored with each other that it would have been forgivable to suspect the involvement of Amortentia. They worked together to pass laws which weren’t merely permissible under the treaty, but fair. The Wizarding World flourished. But not everyone was pleased.”

“Back during the war, the side we fought on that opposed your father was called the Order of the Phoenix.” Ron said. “And after Harry treated with Voldemort, they fractured into two groups. Most of us had sense enough to realize, even if we didn’t agree, that he’d made the best choice that he could have for everyone. But a minority thought he’d gone Dark, or even that he’d really been working with Voldemort in secret the whole time. Bloody idiots. They ended up rebelling and forming a terrorist group calling themselves Augury after the relative of the Phoenix. At first, they were just troublemakers. Rabble Rousers. But then-.”

“Then they killed my mother.” Half finished butterbeer forgotten at his side, Albus drew his knees up to his chest.

“It’s getting late.” Hermione said after the silence had stretched on too long to be comfortable. “Why don’t you head to bed, Albus. We’ll be getting up early tomorrow to head to Diagon Alley for supplies.”

He didn’t voice any complaints. Just rose from where he’d been sitting and walked back into the lopsided building. Making his way up the turning staircase and into the room he shared, now, with his two pseudo-cousins he’d only just met that day. Whether they were asleep he neither knew nor cared but the room was dark and it was only by blindly feeling around through his belongings that he managed to locate night clothes and the stuffed stag. Changing and crawling into his bed, he coiled up beneath the unfamiliar sheets which smelled of lavender and rosemary and looked up into the starry sky. Clutching hard to felt tipped antlers.


	3. A Big Unfriendly World

“Get up! Get up! We’re going to Diagon Alley today!” Hugo’s loud voice, accompanied by the repetitive thud of the smaller boy jumping up and down at the foot of his bed, combined to break through the peace of his sleep. Albus let out an annoyed grunt and buried his face further into the lavender scented mattress, making a blind swipe at him which missed by a mile. “Breakfast, Albus! Breakfast! You need to get up! Get up!”

Something hit the opposite wall with a dull thud which sounded about like what he’d have expected out of a shoe. Pushing himself up into a seated position, blinking owlishly against the morning light, he found that it had indeed been a shoe. A pink shoe, to be exact, which no doubt belonged to Rose who was currently shooting her younger brother a glare which wouldn’t have looked out of place on a nesting dragon.

“Be _quiet_ Hugo!” She groused at the younger boy, who ignored her and continued to bounce in place, then turned her attention onto him. “Sorry, Albus.”

Albus waved her off and made a failed effort to put his hair to rights using only his fingers. The smell of bacon was faintly detectable wafting up from the kitchen below them. “It’s alright.” He reluctantly pushed himself out of bed and rearranged the sheets and pillows to ensure the stag was securely in place. “We should get dressed and head downstairs before your brother goes off like a Muggle tick bird.”

Rose looked at him rather oddly. “Do you mean time bomb?”

That sounded better than tick bird, to be honest, as Albus highly doubted Muggles had birds that exploded. “Sure. That.” Opening the trunk at the foot of his bed, Albus pulled out a deep green and silver robe and set about changing out of his pajamas while his two cousins looked on.

“You know that you could just wear Muggle clothing, right?”

“Don’t have any. Only wizarding ones.” He turned to the mirror and straightened the collar before finally managing to make his hair lay correctly; a comb-over style, rather like what his father always wore, but lacking the rogue curl which always fell between his eyes. “Father dislikes Muggles and Muggle things. Didn’t keep anything Muggle in the manor, other than Mum’s portrait.”

Rose frowned. Hugo, still vibrating with excitement over their rapidly impending trip to the alley, ever so helpfully piped up with a cheery “Grandpa loves Muggles! He thinks that they’re fascinating and wishes that there weren’t such strict laws about associating with them now. He has a shed full of Muggle objects like the ones he works with at the Ministry.”

Albus raised an eyebrow. As far as he could recall from what he’d read on the subject, and been told by the occasional serpent possessed of any extensive knowledge from outside, the only Muggle related branch of the Ministry was the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. And that didn’t sound much to him like the sort of fare to be taken home and played around with. “Does he?” with a last glance at himself in the mirror, he followed Rose and Hugo into the hall.

“Yeah! He doesn’t have a lot of interesting stuff in there right now, just a fire breathing rubber duck and a bath loofah with shark teeth, but dad says he had a car in there once that was charmed to fly like a broom!”

“A blue Ford Anglia.” Rose told him with a put-upon gravity which once more reminded him strongly of her mother. “Dad and your Mum crashed it into the Whomping Willow on the school grounds after they missed the train in second year.”

“Because of a house elf!”

“Bloody maniac, that Dobby.” Ron offered from where he sat at the table, cup of coffee and morning issue of the _Daily Prophet_ in front of him. Albus tore his eyes hastily away from the paper after catching sight of the headline **Dark Lord Dying?** which had been splashed across it in bold black letters in favor of taking in the worn looking glare Hermione sent him in response to the offense. “He adored Harry, though. Just had a weird idea about what the word ‘protecting’ meant. Nearly killed him with that rogue bludger. And then that idiot Lockhart vanished all the bones in his arm.”

Catching sight of Albus’ expression of naked alarm as she helped Mrs. Weasley direct the platters of butter, bacon and waffles over to the table Hermione said “your father put a curse on the Defense Against the Dark Arts position at Hogwarts not long after he finished his own schooling, when he was denied the seat by Dumbledore.”

“He had to lift it after the war so that wizarding parents could be assured their children would get a decent education.” The legs of Ginny’s chair squeaked against the floor as she pulled it closer to the table. “But before that we had some real winners.”

“Quirrell, our first year, had a speech impediment that made him impossible to understand on a good day.” Hermione said. “Not to mention he had your father, as a disembodied shade, protruding from the back of his head.”

“Lockhart was a straight up hack who tried to obliviate Ron and your Mum after they dragged him down into the Chamber of Secrets,” Ginny said, “but ended up oblivating himself instead.”

What? How? How could _anyone_ accidentally oblivate themselves?

“Lupin was actually good.” Ron said. “We learned a lot from him. But then it got out that he was a werewolf and...well… Dumbledore was forced to let him go. The next year we got a supposed crazy ex-auror with a magical eye and a peg leg who turned out to actually be a polyjuiced death eater who was supposed to be in Azkaban.”

“But absolutely _no one_ was worse than that _utter toad_ of a woman we had during fifth year.”

“Hem. Hem.” Ginny mocked in a tone which made him physically cringe but both girls grinned, amused. “Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic, Hogwarts High Inquisitor, Missing Link between man and amphibian, Dolores Jane Umbridge.” The three exchanged laughter. “Riddle wasn’t pleased when he learned that she’d been wearing his locket around her fat neck. Even less so when he learned that she’d lost it.”

“What happened to that awful woman after the Muggleborn Registration Commission was done away with?” Mrs. Weasley asked. “Eat your toast, Hugo dear.”

“Riddle was and is a lot of things, Mum. Among those things is a man capable of recognizing at a glance the kind of people who would follow a giraffe if they thought it could give them a modicum of power.” Ginny said. “She got quietly disappeared by the Death Eaters within two months of the new regime’s official rise.”

“If that’s the case, then she got off easily.” Hermione said. “I was in the office when Harry told him about the Blood Quill she used in her detentions. He. Was. Not. Happy.”

“Would probably still be stuck in the basement of Slytherin Manor to this day, if that were the case.” Ron said.

That line of conversation dropped off, then, as the five adults appeared to recall the fact that there were children present. After finishing up their meal and sending their dishes off to wash themselves in the basin of the sink, they were once more herded over to the hearth and handed pinches of Floo powder. Watching both Molly and Arthur go through, followed by Hermione, Albus stepped inside and called out “the Leaky Cauldron!”

He was spun wildly about and ejected into a wizarding pub, laden with the late summer crowds, and collided with a table with a thud and a squeak. Thankfully not upsetting the drinks of either of the wizards sitting there and mumbling apologies as he scrambled away towards the rest of his party as they emerged as well. Catching the brief eye of a tall man with a ruddy face and scruffy brown beard who disappeared into the crowd a moment later.

“Alright you lot, we’ve got quite a lot to gather for the two of you that will be going to school this year.” Mrs. Weasley said. “At Madam Malkin’s we’ll need three sets of plain black word robes, one black pointed hat, one pair of dragonhide or similar gloves and a black winter cloak with silver fastenings. After that we’ll need _The Standard Book of Spells Grade 1, A History of Magic, Magical Theory, A Beginners Guide to Transfiguration, One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, Magical Draughts and Potions, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ and _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self Protection.”_

She folded the list and continued.

“We’ll also need a set of brass scales, a telescope, a set of glass or crystal phials, a pewter cauldron in standard size 2 and a wand.”

“I want a wand, too!” Hugo yelped excitedly.

“Two more years. Sorry, mate.” Ron told him, sounding very much like this wasn’t the first time he’d had to say something similar. “It’s the law. No wands before 11.”

“Well, first things first: Gringotts.” Arthur said happily as he shepherded them through the courtyard ahead of him and tapped a pattern against the wall with his wand. Prompting the bricks to draw back into an arching gateway and letting them out onto a fully wizarding street.

Light. Sound. Color. Cauldrons spilled out into the lane like drifts of snow outside a store selling potions ingredients. Children in robes clutching brightly colored candies darted anad weaved in and out of the rushing crowds. An owl swooped low over the heads of milling shoppers. Albus couldn’t help but stare in awe as they made their way down cobbled streets until they reached the imposing white marble building at the very end. Flanked by a pair of squat, sharp faced creatures, a warning penned in gold above the door.

_Enter stranger but take heed_

_Of what awaits the sin of greed._

_For those who take, but do not earn_

_Must pay most dearly in their turn._

_So if you seek beneath our floors_

_A treasure that was never yours_

_Thief, you have been warned, beware_

_Of finding more than treasure there._

The goblins watched them pass with narrowed coal black eyes but made no effort to impede their entrance. The inside of the wizarding bank was cavernous and furnished in gold and silver and more polished stone. The ceiling held up by pillars the width of ancient trees. Mrs. Weasley led the way up to the counter, and the goblin leaned down over the top to take in the whole of the group.

“Ah, the Riddle Heir arrives at last. Your Lord Father did send a letter to let us know to expect you.” He turned his gaze on the adults. “Which among you are his guardians?” Ron and Hermione stepped forward. “We were given orders by both the Dark Lord and his Consort, before his death, that his key only be released to those who could answer three questions correctly. Do you believe that you can?”

They exchanged a telling glance, then nodded.

“What was contained in the note the Dark Consort found within the false locket planted by Regulus Arcturus Black?”

“‘To the Dark Lord - I know I will be dead long before you read this, but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match you’ll be mortal once more.” Hermione said. “Even after so long, we poured after that note enough to memorize it.”

“What form did the Patronus take which led the Dark Consort to the sword of Godric Gryffindor?”

It was Ron who answered this time. “A doe.”

“To whom did Severus Snape truly owe his loyalty?”

“Harry Potter.” The slight catch in Hermione’s voice was almost undetectable.

The goblin waved a hand and a small silver key shimmered into existence on top of the counter. Which he then handed over to his Godmother. “Bloodtooth will take you and your guardians down to the vault your parents had arranged for you.” He said. “Ironfang will handle business for the rest of you.”

His father had been stern enough with him, when need be, that Albus knew a dismissal when he heard one. His Godparents seemed to recognize it too because they took the key and headed towards the indicated goblin without complaint. They were led down a short hallway to a set of tracks and loaded into what all but amounted to a mine cart, which whisked them away into the dark and the cold. After weathering a couple steep drops and a handful of sharp turns which left him feeling rather dizzy, the cart at last came to a stop and they were let out. The light of the conductors lantern the goblin held shed a pale glow over the mechanism of the door: six metal serpents with etched scales glittering in the gloom.

“Vault 737.” Bloodfang said. “Before you lies its last protection, added at the behest of your father after the Dark Consort’s death. It can only be opened with a broken promise and the tongue of serpents.”

Albus looked at the door. At the six serpents binding it shut. The dark metal of their scales. He envisioned them as real snakes, slithering and hissing, and rasped **_“:I love you.:”_ ** With a great grinding sound and a series of harsh clangs a seventh serpent slithered out from the shield over the hinge, forcing the six before it back and then vanishing again leaving the door to swing open with a creak.

He stepped over the raised threshold and dropped down into the room beyond: large with a vaulted ceiling, it was filled with a variety of books, artifacts and piles upon piles of coins taken from both the Potter vaults and the no doubt expansive funds of the Dark Lord. But what drew Albus’ eye most was the picture set atop the shelf directly opposite where he stood. He quickly crossed the vault to pick it up, hands shaking lightly as he took in the details of the _wizarding photograph_ of both his parents. His father, looking young and fierce and clad in black wedding robes. His mother in white, tailored with shimmering accents of gold. A bangle, shaped into the form of a cobra with a dark mark on its hood, encircling his upper arm. The same bangle rested beside the picture, coiled now in a manner much more reminiscent of an actual snake but as inert as any of the sickles, knuts or galleons around him. Albus set the picture down, carefully and with marked reluctance, and picked up the metal snake only to all but leap out of his skin when it opened its eyes and slithered up his sleeve. Emerging out the top of his robe a moment later and settling at his neck like a choker.

“ **_:You are not my master. Nor are you my master’s mate, the one who made me. Yet you smell of both of them, and your magic is the same.:”_ ** It hissed. “ **_:Are you their hatchling?”_ **

**_“:I...suppose so. The one who wore you in that picture was my Mum.:”_ ** Albus said after another unsteady moment; after all, he’d never found himself in the position of having to hold conversation with a piece of jewelry before. “ **_:Who are you? What are you?:”_ ** Not a normal snake, surely, as even a fully magical breed wouldn’t have been able to survive 11 years locked up in a bank vault.

“ **_:I was created as a means through which my master could be identified as one of the Dark One’s followers, in the days before they were mates, as he refused to wear his mark upon his skin like all the others do. I was given as a gift and a friend. Something to speak to when he first returned and his presence was to be kept a surprise.:”_ ** The metal serpent said. **_“:My master called me Damballa, after an ancient serpent god of long ago. I do not know why he left me here.:”_ **

**_“:Because he died.:”_ **

The false cobra writhed, hissing in distress as it swiftly slithered circles around his neck. **_“:A punishment, then. Because I failed. Failed to protect my master. I should have gone with him into the ground. Watched over his bones. Not been left here to gather dust with nothing to protect.:”_ ** It draped its coils over his shoulder to steady itself and raising its gilded head Damballa regarded him with the faceted rubies that it had instead of eyes. “: **_You are to be my ward now, hatchling of my master and my master’s mate.:”_ **

It didn’t sound like there’d be any talking the overprotective piece of jewelry down. **_“:Er...call me Albus.:”_ **

“So that’s where Damballa went.” He turned his head as his godparents both stepped into the vault as well. Ron approached him, an almost nervous gaze set on the metallic cobra. “I’d wonder about it, after not seeing him with Harry at the funeral. They were all but inseparable not long after he first got him.”

“This was their wedding photo. I’d thought he’d locked all of the pictures that he had of Harry in the Riddle vault proper.” Hermione had picked up the picture as well and was looking at it with nostalgic softness in her brown eyes. “You ought to take this with you, Albus. I can shrink it and hold onto it for you if you’d like while we’re doing our shopping.”

“Please.” He said. 

As she went about shrinking the frame and tucking it away in her bag, Ron handed him a bag for coins. “Let’s get some money for you and then head back up to meet the others.”

After Albus had shoved as many coins into the bag he’d been given as could fit they left the vault behind and took the-in his opinion much more pleasant-trip back up to the bank and rejoined the rest of their party who had also finished their business there.

“Where should we head off to first?” Mrs. Weasley asked.

Rose was quick to call out “Olivanders!” to which Albus voiced his agreement and, supported by Hugo’s overbrimming enthusiasm, they headed off to the famous wandmaker’s shop. The interior of Olivander’s was dark and cluttered with so many shelves, stuffed full of wand boxes. Which stuck out at odd angles, that it was incredibly difficult to move around. With the faint rattle of wheels a ladder supporting an incredibly ancient looking man rolled into view.

“Ah. Mr. Riddle. I’ve been expecting to see you for many years.” He clambered down from the ladder to stand before them, barely coming up to the middle of Albus’ chest. “I remember every wand I’ve ever sold, including those I sold your parents. Brother wands with phoenix feather cores, one of holly and one of yew. And I transplanted the core of your mother’s first wand into the Elder wand which replaced it when the time came for his return. I suspect that you, like them, will find yourself a truly exceptional partner.”

Producing a box from Merlin only knew where and opened it. A short tan wand rested inside. “7 inches. Flexible. Cypress and phoenix tail feather.”

Phoenix tail feather. The same core as the wands of both his parents. Albus picked it up. Stared at it, expectant. Nothing happened.

“Well, give it a wave.” He did precisely that and the front windows behind him exploded. Damballa hissed a string of colorful complaints and hid within his robes as everyone in the front half of the store was pelted with little shards of glass. “No! No! Absolutely not!” Snatching the wand back from him, the old wand maker offered him a tawny wand with burled graining. “11 and 1/4th inches. Rigid. Elm and unicorn hair.”

This time Albus didn’t need encouragement to wave the wand that he’d been handed. The half wilted flowers in a nearby vase went up in flames with a woosh!

“Not that one either.” Calmly shooting a jet of water at the vase of flowers in order to snuff out the flames he collected the wand back from him as well. “It’s alright, my boy. Both of your parents forced me to go through my entire stock before they bonded. We’ll find one for you if we have to be here all day.”

Thank Merlin that that didn’t end up being necessary, but Albus did end up going through something like 90 different wands before he was finally presented with the right one.

“Hawthorn and dragon heartstring. 13 and ½ inches. Rather stiff.”

Warmth flooded through him as soon as his fingertips brushed the dark stained wood. A spill of green and red sparks shooting from the tip as he swished it through the air. Damballa poked his head out from the mouth of his sleeve to observe the new development as the wandmaker smiled.

“Most at home with those going through a period of turmoil, Hawthorn are contradictory but powerful wands.” Olivander said. “Even more so when affixed with dragon cores. A suitable weapon for one who’d come to lead. 7 galleons.”

He turned his attention to Rose once the coins were in his hand, who ended up with a willow and unicorn hair wand within a handful of minutes.

“ **_:Congratulations, hatchling, on receiving your spark stick.:”_ ** Damballa had settled himself around his wrist, body so long that his entire forearm ended up covered in coils beneath the fabric of his sleeve. “ **_:My master’s second spark stick was custom made for him from the wood of death. It was powerful, too. And loyal. And it served well but often reflected his temper.:”_ **

**_“:What happened to it?:”_ ** Albus asked as they dismounted the stoop, leaving the wandmaker to repair the damage that had been done to his shop. “ **_:Do you know?:”_ **

“: **_A wizard is always buried with their spark stick.:”_ ** Did he detect a tone of jealousy in the adornment’s voice? “ **_:Master’s mate will be buried with his, too, when the time comes.:”_ **

The time was coming far sooner than Albus would have liked.

“Flourish and Blotts is just down here.” Mrs. Weasley was saying as she expertly herded them before her through the crowd. “Let’s get what both of you need from there before the place gets too crowded.”

The bookstore was only two doors down from Olivanders and so stuffed with people that he almost couldn’t comprehend how it was possible for them to fit in through the door. Thankfully it didn’t appear that they’d have to linger too terribly long as the employees had gathered the first year requisite books into a bundle which they were handing out to the people who got into a specific line. A specific line which, unfortunately included a fair bit of jostling that led him to be parted from the Weasleys.

Before Albus could fully process what had happened he’d been seized and spun about and promptly blinded by a camera going off directly in his face. Damballa, feeling him recoil, reared up and showed his ruby lined mouth in an impressive threat display which was also photographed. But the third photograph was thwarted by the sudden appearance of a well dressed blonde man who leveled his attacker at the point of his wand.

“If you know what’s good for you, Broadmoore, you’ll turn over that camera and stay right where you are while I erase those pictures.” His tone was like a winter wind and the man, who Albus could scant make out through the spots in his vision, gibbered something incoherent followed by what sounded like “Head Auror Malfoy!” before complying. The blonde man, who now that Albus really looked at him bore a strong resemblance to the Death Eater his father had called Lucius, tapped the device a couple of times with his wand and shoved it into the man’s hands once it had begun to smoke. “The next time I catch you taking unsolicited photographs of the Dark Lord’s son I’ll do worse than destroy your camera! Make sure to spread that message to your urchin friends.”

Once satisfied the man had been sent packing, the blonde wizard turned to face him. “Hello, Albus.” His eyes were sharp and grey, but not unkind, and his face was shadowed by faint stubble. “Are you alright?”

“ **_:That is the dragon. He was my master’s partner.:”_ **

So this was Draco. His other godparent. “I’m alright. Thank you.”

“I take it that you’re here with the Weasleys?” When Albus nodded, he offered him his hand. “I’ll take you back to them.”

Despite the minimal available space, the crowd parted around Draco like water around a river stone and Albus soon found himself being yanked forward into his adoptive grandmother’s arms, told how absolutely sick with worry they’d been when they’d turned around and found him gone, and then passed around to the other adults for hugs.

“Weasley.” Draco said, drawing Ron’s attention. The Head Auror motioned, with a quick jerk of his chin, to step away. “A word? You as well, Hermione.”

“Er, yeah. Sure.” Reluctance clear and with Hermione following behind, the red haired wizard stepped out of earshot of the rest of their group. “Scorpius with you?”

“I’m here on work, not for shopping.” He said. “We went last week, before the crowds. He hasn’t really taken well to large gatherings of people of late given the stress of his mother’s...Astoria isn’t what I wanted to talk to you about!”

“If it’s work related,” Hermione said, “and you’re coming to us, then I imagine that it’s serious.”

“Diggory was spotted in the area, about 15 minutes before you lot were. We don’t know how many Augury members he has with him. Or what, if anything, he might be planning but we couldn’t find him in the crowds.” Draco said. “Considering the Dark Lord’s publicized condition might well make them bolder than usual, and the fact that Albus has emerged into the open for the first time they might make an effort to finish the job they started at Greyside. I think it’s best that I accompany you for the rest of your time here.”

Much to his surprise, even after all this time, they were quick to agree and led him back to the larger group. The older Weasleys greeted him politely but not warmly and Rose and Hugo regarded him with something almost like suspicion. Finally, Ginny broke the silence. 

“So, Madam Malkins’ next?”

“Yes. Yes, of course.” Mrs. Weasley said. “Come along, you lot. Draco.”

The blonde Auror motioned Albus ahead of him and rested a hand on his shoulder. Damballa slithering over his fingers elicited no reaction. In his other hand, he held a wand. “Hawthorn.” He said on catching his stare. “And unicorn hair. Your Mum used it for a while; stole it off me during the war.”

Even if it hadn’t been his own, for a while, one of his parents had wielded a hawthorn wand. “My wand is hawthorn, too. Hawthorn and dragon heartstring.”

“A strong wand.” He said. “It suits you.”

Madam Malkin was a short, greying witch wrapped in a bubble gum pink robe. Her kind eyes framed in cat’s eye glasses. She greeted them warmly and took first Rose and then him-though he was accompanied by Draco-back to be sized. With promises to have their school clothes ready to be picked up by the end of the day, Madam Malkin saw them out of the store.

A pair of fully robed Death Eaters were standing just to the right of the door, waiting for them. “If it would be acceptable to you, I’d like to take Albus to the ice cream parlor while you collect the rest of the supplies.”

“I’ll go with them.” Ginny quickly offered. Albus narrowed his eyes, but kept silent. Clearly, there was something the adults didn’t want to mention where he could hear them.

“The more the better, I think. In fact,” Draco flicked his wand and a silver mist projected from the tip. Forming into a four legged creature with the front of an eagle and the hind quarters of a horse. “Nott, Zabini, you’re to head to the ice cream parlor. Lestrange and Lestrange will be present, at my back. Ginevra is with me as well.” The silver eagle horse galloped off above the crowd with the silent flutter of feathered wings.

“What was that?”

Grey eyes looked down at him. “That was my patronus: Buckbeak.” A pause. “Your mother named him. Taught me how to cast it. Thought it was hilarious that it was a hippogryph.”

“I think everyone who was in Hogwarts at the time thinks it was hilarious.” Ginny said, doing her utmost to ignore the two Death Eaters-Lestrange and Lestrange, though what their first names might have been he couldn’t begin to guess-who trailed only a few paces behind them. “Still have the scar?”

The way the blonde rubbed at his arm was answer enough.

Nott and Zabini reached the ice cream parlor before them; unlike their previous escort neither one were wearing masks. One a rather thin looking man whom Damballa hissily compared to a rabbit and the other tall and dark skinned.

“This him?” the rabbity man asked, staring openly and prompting the other to smack him on the shoulder. “Ouch, Blaise!”

“Close your mouth, Knott! You’ll catch pixies!”

Ginny snorted. The little bell over the ice cream parlor’s door jingled as she opened it. “At least you’ve upgraded to slightly more eloquent goons.”

Draco didn’t dignify her comment and none of the four men followed them inside. The interior of the building was pleasantly cool in the face of the august temperatures in the alley outside. A rosy witch stood behind the counter and offered them a bright smile.

“Have you eaten ice cream before, Albus?” Draco asked as they approached the glass front of the display.

He nodded. “Father made sure I always had everything I could think to want. In appropriate doses, of course.” Albus said. “Did my parents eat ice cream?”

“From time to time, on your father’s part. Usually after being dragged here by your Mum, who’d eat it any time he could get his hands on the stuff.” Draco said. “Had a rough childhood among the Muggles. Didn’t get a lot of it growing up. And he’d order the most _ungodly_ flavors. Strawberry and peanut butter. Banana and acid pops. One time he even tried to force me into eating lemon sherbert with bloody rainbow sprinkles!”

He didn’t know why, but that made Ginny dissolve into a fit of laughter. “That sounds like Harry.”

A moment of sad silence before the Auror looked over at the ice cream witch and, with a rather helpless looking gesture and said “bullox it. Lemon sherbert, then. With rainbow sprinkles.”

Ginny flashed a thin smile, her eyes glassy. “Me too.”

When the kindly witch looked to him, Albus nodded. “I’ll have one too, please.”

The treat was more ice than cream, and sun yellow beneath a crust of rainbow sprinkles. Hesitantly prodding the concoction with a long plastic spoon, as if in fear that it might suddenly lunge at him, Draco led them out onto the patio. They claimed a little metal table by the doors together and ate in companionable silence for a while.

“You said that my Mum taught you how to cast the Patronus charm?”

“Taught her, too.” Draco indicated Ginny with his spoon, prompting the witch to half-playfully warn him not to point at her with anything that had already been in his mouth, “and your godparents. A lot of other people, during the second war. And he became all but synonymous with the charm after he used it for his display.”

“Display?”

Draco nodded and adjusted the way that he was sitting in his chair. “The Head Auror isn’t just the leader of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, they’re the claw of the Dark Lord. A warrior who fights so that normal people don’t have to. It’s always been tradition that, when someone new is named to office, they perform a great feat of magic just before taking their oaths. To reassure the public they’re strong enough to protect them should the need arise.”

“But why that charm in particular?”

“In part, it was probably an act of defiance against your father. Meant to remind him that they didn’t agree just because they’d agreed to work together.” Draco said. “The patronus charm is incredibly difficult. Only the most powerful wizards are capable of producing even an incorporeal one and many only after years of struggle. Even more aren’t able to cast it while up against a dementor. On top of that, many regard it as the very pinnacle of Light Magic as casting it requires the very thing that it embodies: pure joy.” He set his still mostly full bowl aside, raining small sprinkles down onto the table. “There have been a lot of notable patroni throughout history, but I doubt many of them were as large or as splendid as the one he cast that night…”

_Draco shifted in unease and turned his head, along with the rest of the gathered crowd, to look at the side door of the atrium just in time to see it be flung wide. From his position atop the stage, he caught sight of a familiar figure raising an unfamiliar wand in a sweeping circle before a voice he’d never thought he’d hear again called out “Expecto patronum!”_

_The silver stag which sprange free of Harry’s wand was so bright it would have left the darkest hour of the deepest night flooded with its inescapable radiance. Spokes of starlight spireled from its antler crown as it thundered through the atrium; the space made suddenly claustrophobic with its size, bathing the murmuring crowd with waves of calm assurance as the little raven made his way up to the stage and mounted the stairs. Wrapped in a fitted robe the deep nightshade of the Draught of Living Death adorned with swirls and patterns of gold, leaving his green eyes aflame as if backlit by the dire curse which had left him with the faded pink scar on his brow. The great patronus dissipated as he came to a stop before the black robed Dark Lord and bathed them all in shining celestial dust. He raised his wand to his chest in salute, and there was a challenge in his eyes which Voldemort appeared to take in stride._

“He was known by a lot of names, in his time. The Chosen One. The Savior of the Wizarding World. The Boy Who Lied. That day added another to the list.” Draco said. “The Silver Stag.”

“What’s father’s patronus?” Albus felt Damballa’s scales drag along his inner arm and reached over to stroke the serpent’s back. “He could cast one, right?”

“Despite being as dark as they come, yes. He could.” Draco said. “Originally, it was a runespoor.”

“Originally? Can patroni change? What makes them change? What did it turn into?”

The blonde auror just sighed and shook his head. “They should have finished collecting the rest of the suppliers by now.” Draco said. “It’s time we got back.”

“But-!”

“ **_They’ve given you the pieces that you need to find the answer my little master.:”_ ** He coiled his tail around Albus’ thumb like a glinting golden ring. “ **_:Perhaps you’ll be granted it in time, if you do not discover it yourself, but not yet.:_ **” 

“ **_:Do you know?:”_ **

**_“:If there is one thing serpents value, it's the attainment of one’s own knowledge.:”_ **

Oh, honestly, this thing was of no help! Albus huffed in annoyance, but relented to the fact that pressing would get him nowhere. After disposing of their bowls, they reconveined with the rest of their party and Draco-along with the other four, though they’d dropped back to a safer distance-escorted them back to the Leaky Cauldron.

“There will be Aurors at Hogwarts again, guarding the school. Just to ensure advantage isn’t taken of our Lord’s state.” Draco informed the five adults, then offered Albus another smile and squeezed his shoulder again. “They’ll always be proud. No matter what House you go to.”

Then, as quickly as the Head Auror had appeared, he was gone. Albus only let his eyes linger on the spot where he had vanished for a moment before he was maneuvered into the floo.


	4. A Small Little Snake

St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries was an incredibly grim place to have the misfortune of being, whether you were merely visiting or trapped there yourself among the ranks of those poor souls they called their patients. And it was a place which Tom had never envisioned himself being stuck in. The last time he’d been there had been during one of his raven’s first appointments, before they’d arranged for house visits by the mediwitch responsible for seeing to the health of his consort and their unborn son. But the maternity ward had been warmly furnished and homey and hadn’t appeared so blatantly as what it was: a place for the terminally ill and unsalvageable to die.

The room he’d been set up in was large and comfortable and clean-the medical facilities of Magical Britain could never be looked down on as insufficient after all-but cold. Largely white and uninteresting to look at after too long though soon enough, as his health further declined, he’d be spending less and less time awake so its inability to keep his mind entertained ultimately mattered little. A healer came in thrice a day to deliver his meals and the numerous potions he was to take and, on occasion, to trade out a book he’d finished for another but they offered little in the way of intelligent conversation.

A knock landed on the door of his room and Tom looked up. Marking his page in the book on advanced healing magic he’d been reading and setting it aside, he called “come in!”

The door swung open, revealing Lucius once more on the other side. “My Lord.” He dipped his head respectfully. “Your son is here to see you.”

It was early in the morning on September 1st. Albus would be heading off to Hogwarts in another few hours, and by magic’s grace Tom hoped he’d find the same home there that he and Harry had before him. “He must have gotten up quite early to see me before he had to catch the train.” He said. “No reason to leave him waiting in the hall. Please let him in, Lucius.”

“Of course, my Lord.” The elder Malfoy disappeared back into the hall and the door swung shut behind him. When it opened again it was to permit his now eleven year old son into the room, straight black school robes already on and a familiar golden serpent coiled about his shoulders.

“Good morning, love.” Tom positioned himself more comfortably against the pillows behind him and reached down to pull his son up onto the bed beside him. “You’re up early. I see you’ve visited your vault.”

“Wanted to see you again before I went to school; Ron and Hermione said I wouldn’t be able to see you after today until break.” he said. “He...I found Mum’s picture. In the vault.”

He’d been given a report from Draco regarding the events of the day his son had visited Diagon Alley, including the presence of Amos Diggory in the area. Thankfully, it seemed the Weasley party hadn’t encountered him.

“Our wedding day.” He sighed and gently brushed a stray curl behind his son’s ear. “I still remember it vividly. How beautiful he was. How beautiful everything was.” The white and golden robes that Harry had worn had blazed beneath the light of the sun and his eyes, behind his glasses, had been a brilliant shade of green. “You found Damballa?”

“ **_:I will look after your hatchling, Dark One. Just don’t lock me back in that vault.:”_ **

He hadn’t expected the artifact to suffer for it, but couldn’t stand to either tolerate its presence in the manor or to relinquish it forever. He’d done what he’d had to. **_“:I’m certain that you will.:”_ ** He said. **_“:You brought your wand with you, my darling serpent?:”_ ** Albus nodded. **_“:May I see it?:_ **”

His son produced a darkly colored wand with a beautifully carved handle. Carefully, Tom took it from him. Running his fingers along the dips and ridges of the handle. “13 and ½ inches, just like mine. Though it isn’t yew.” He said. “Red oak?”

“Hawthorn.” Albus said. “And dragon.”

Tom handed the wand back to his son and lightly stroked his cheek. “A fine partner.”

“You’re not disappointed?”

The Dark Lord pulled up short in surprise as his son looked up at him, half-frightened that he’d be informed that yes he was disappointed with him. His eyes were so much like Harry’s that his heart lurched painfully in his chest. “Disappointed?” he repeated, rather dumbly. “Albus, why would I be disappointed with you over a wand?”

“Because I wasn’t paired with a phoenix feather.” He said. “Because I’m not like you and Mum.”

“My little love, what the core of your wand is or isn’t means nothing to me.” Tom ran his fingers through the boy’s hair and watched him learn into the touch. “You’re the world to me, you know? The best of both of us. And...sometimes I wonder if you’re the only good thing I’ve ever done in my life. So no, Albus. I’m not disappointed that your wand core isn’t phoenix feather. And if Harry were still alive he wouldn’t be disappointed either.”

He had no way of knowing if his assurances in any way comforted his son, but Albus settled beside him nevertheless. Resting his head on his chest and absently beginning to hum the lullabye he’d often heard Harry sing, despite not remembering the words. The gentle melody was the only sound between them, aside from their breathing, until Tom broke the silence again.

“He never really got over you, you know? Your mother.” He said. “Even after you were born, I’d find him sitting in your nursery at all hours just...watching you sleep.”

_Moonlight spilled in silent torrents of silver through the high windows lining the hall of Greyside Manor, transforming the tiled floor into a sea of marble. Clad in only a set of ebony pajamas and the house robe he’d thrown on after discovering the absence of his consort from their bed, the Dark Lord padded on silent feet towards the one place he knew he’d be. The only place he ever went when he woke like this, or when he simply failed to find sleep, and rose in the dead of the night. Tom wasn’t ashamed to admit that he’d been panicked the first time it had happened-Harry had still be pregnant, then, and the hormones had seemed to send thoughts of the worst into overdrive-and would have torn the manor down looking for him, or any trace of who might have dared to take him, had their link not allowed him to know the other wizard’s location with little more than a passing thought. Now, though, he made his way calmly across the now familiar wing of the Potter property and opened the door of the nursery. Carefully easing it inwards so as to ensure the hinges didn’t squeak._

_As expected, there sat Harry. Curled up on the floor with a gold and scarlet house robe wrapped around him and his wand dropped carelessly in his lap. Green eyes focused on the sleeping form of their swaddled son as he leaned against the crib and gripped the bars. Tom leaned against the doorframe for a moment, letting himself absorb the somber serenity of the moment; the depth of the night outside the window, gilded by the full faced moon, and the reigning silence but for the distant hush of waves and the mingled breathing of the two people who meant more to him than anything. Then he moved. Reaching out with his magic to alert Harry to his presence as he crossed the room and sank to his knees at his side. Rearranging himself until he sat cross legged on the floor, then bundling the little raven into his arms. Feeling him shift and turn until he could comfortably rest his head against Tom’s chest without losing sight of the crib and its precious cargo.The flood of uncertainty and hope and love which pulsed from the other end of their connection one he knew well, by now. Tom ran long fingers through the other man’s unruly hair and dropped a kiss to the top of his head._

_“What if I can’t do this, Tom? I never...I wasn’t raised...what if I can’t give him the love that he needs?”_

_“You can, Harry.” He felt like he knew his beloved’s fears for and surrounding their son by heart, by now, but Tom didn’t mind how frequently he voiced them. He’d offer comfort however often it was needed. Until it no longer was. “You loved_ **_me_ ** _enough. Loved me enough to do the impossible. You’ve more than enough love to give him all he needs and more.”_

_“What if I’m not a good parent?” half desperate, half demanding. One of Harry’s hands fisted in the front of his shirt as Tom began to gently rock them back and forth. “What if I’m not strict enough? What if I’m too strict? What if...I don’t know, Tom. I-I don’t know!”_

_“It’s going to be alright.” He said. “We’ll make up for each other’s faults. He’ll be fine.”_

_“What if something happens?” he asked. “Things are getting bad. He hates you because of...and hates me because I wouldn’t go back to being their perfect little soldier. If they had the chance to hurt Albus-.”_

_“They won’t!” He snarled it into the top of his consort’s head, barely checking his volume to avoid disturbing the sleeping child just inches away. “I won’t allow it. I’ll keep you safe._ **_Both_ ** _of you. No one succeeds in taking Lord Voldemort’s treasures.” Certainly not the ones which meant as much to him as these two did. “It’ll be alright.”_

_For the space of a few heart beats, there was silence. Then, Harry spoke again. Just two words, whispered like a terrible blasphemy in a holy place. “I’m scared.”_

_“I know.” Tom said against his consort’s temple, and carefully tendered his barriers to ensure two other words didn’t manage to make their way across their link. ‘Me too.’_

“The link created by my failed attempt to kill your mother as a child remained between us even after I’d cleansed him of the dark magic I’d inadvertently left behind. It was second nature to us, by then, to use it to determine how the other was feeling. To help them.” He could still feel Harry’s warmth against him, for a brief moment. Remember, vividly, the way that he’d smelled of broomstick polish, cardamom and vanilla. “Sometimes I still find myself reaching for it. Even knowing there’s nothing on the other side but darkness.”

Better not to further traumatize his son by confessing the part of the story he’d left out; of how the initial severing of the bond had shattered him inside. How the mental backlash had raked psychic gashes along the seams in his sanity where the shards of his soul torn away by the Horcruxes he’d reabsorbed had been grafted back into place. Gashes which had long since become a mangle of scars and had no doubt contributed, along with the drink, to his plunge into the abyss of depression.

No. Better that he didn’t know the true extent of the damage. Nothing could be done for it now, not for years, and Albus had already shouldered far too much misplaced guilt.

Forcing a smile onto his face that Tom knew full well looked, at best, anemic he lightly tapped his son on the chin to bring that watery green gaze back up to meet his and said “I have something for you. From your mother.” As expected, a mixture of excitement, confusion and sorrow shifted across his face. Tom reached into the bedside drawer and drew out an envelope, made of the same parchment Hogwarts used in its acceptance letter but covered in Harry’s not-quite-neat handwriting. “He wanted you to have something from both of us in case of the worst. We determined the contents together and he wrote it out for you.”

He offered the letter to him and watched Albus’ hands close around it. Staring as if he couldn’t believe that it actually existed.

“You’re not to open it,” Tom told him gravely, drawing his bewildered gaze once more, “until you’re on your way to Hogwarts. But make sure you’ve read it before you get there. Alright?” Albus nodded and allowed his father to draw him forward into a tight embrace. “I love you, Albus. And I expect you to do well with your schooling.”

“Yes, father.”

Tom nodded and pressed a kiss to the boy’s forehead as the door to his room swung open once again. He didn’t need to look up, or for whoever it was to speak, to know why they’d come. “Go on. You don’t want to miss the train.”

“Love you, father.” Mumbled into the crook of his neck before Albus reluctantly drew back and slipped out of the hospital bed. Still clutching the letter in both hands, he walked past the unfamiliar Death Eater who was still holding open the door and found Ginny waiting for him in the attached private waiting room.

She eyed the letter as if expecting it to suddenly transform into a biting howler. “He had a letter for you? Why not just send it by-wait. That’s Harry’s handwriting.”

“He said Mum wrote it for me with his help. In case...of what happened.” He clutched the letter close to his chest as he spoke. This was all that he had of the parent who’d loved him enough to die for his sake, aside from his stag. Harry had touched the envelope in his hands, the paper tucked inside of it, and had written on them both.

To him.

Ginny’s expression had gentled. The suspicion clouding her face a moment before passing as if it had never been. “Have you read it yet?”

Albus shook his head. “He told me not to.” He told her. “Father said that Mum intended me not to open it until I was on the train.”

“The train that we’re starting to really toe close to missing.” Ruffling his hair and once again ignoring the grumble that he made over his rumpled curls, she offered him a hand. “Shall we make our way to the floo and head over to platform 9 and ¾’s?”

“Yes, aunt Ginny.”

The red headed witch smiled at him, lightly placed a hand on his shoulder and swept him alongside her through the main waiting room of the hospital-packed full and chaotic as always-and through the floo. The by now unfortunately familiar spinning sensation of that means of travel overtook him and he emerged into the station a moment later. Tripping over the tail of his robes, which had become twisted around his ankles, and into the waiting arms of his godfather who propped him up with a laugh.

“Told you Gin wouldn’t let him miss the train, Hermione.” Ron said as Albus stepped away.

His godmother looked half exasperated and half relieved and directed a rather sarcastic “forgive me for daring to be concerned, Ronald,” in his direction as she gently shuffled Albus towards the gleaming cherry train engine puffing clouds of silver steam into the air. “Rosie has your trunk with her and boarded already to make sure you found a compartment; I doubt your father would want you sitting with too many people.”

That explained why he hadn’t seen his trunk anywhere nearby.

“Have a good first year, Albus.” Ron called after him. “Write to us. We want to hear all about your classes and the House you get sorted into!”

He considered calling back with something noncommittal but ultimately dismissed the idea and hopped up onto the nearest set of boarding stairs. Feeling Damballa shift around until the gilded head poked free of his robes enough to see their surroundings.

“ **_:Ah, the red string of wheeled carts. For some reason I’ll never understand, Master loved this thing.:_ ** ” The bangle’s coils tightened infinitesimally as its body rose up into a loose s. Ruby eyes taking in the closed doors of the compartments they passed and glittering in the overhead light. “ **_:Its only function is to take many hatchlings to the castle that was his first real home. The communal nest.:_ **”

“ **_:Hogwarts.:”_ ** He didn’t know how else to respond to what the enchanted snake had said.

“ **_:Master loved that place. Loved this wheel cart. Loved the village that it goes to. He was one of the Aurors who helped teach the students, and he was one of the ones who helped to guard it when the attacks began:”_ **

“: **_The attacks by Augury?:”_ **

The bangle hissed but said nothing further and settled back around his shoulders. Albus wasn’t given the chance to press it further before a voice piped up from behind him. “Parseltongue?” He spun around to meet the pale eyes of a smiling boy with a head of platinum colored hair. “You must be Albus, then. Father told me to look for you.” He held out his free hand, the other burdened with the task of dragging his school trunk and a carrier containing a jet black kneazle. “Scorpius Malfoy.”

Draco’s son, and his godbrother. Come to think of it, he did bare an undeniable resemblance to the Head Auror he’d first met in the alley. “Albus Riddle.” Confirming his suspicions more than introducing himself though it might have been, offering his own name in return was still the polite thing to do. “You wouldn’t happen to know what cabin Rose Weasley is sitting in, would you? I’ve been told she has my trunk.”

“Haven’t seen her down that end of the train.” The other boy jerked his head over his shoulder, back down the corridor in the way that he’d come. “She’s probably a bit further down. Mind if I sit with the both of you once we do find the right compartment?”

“If there’s space, you’re welcome to.”

“ **_:Making friends already?:”_ **

Albus ignored the jewelry’s hissed comment and continued walking down the hall. Listening to the sounds of the other boy’s footsteps and the scratching drag of the trunk that he carried. Peering briefly through the little windows set into the doors of the compartments they passed until he finally caught sight of the red headed young witch he was looking for. Albus reached out, hooked his fingers into the depressed handle and pushed.

Rose looked up as the door trundled aside. “ _There_ you are! I was starting to get worried that you really would miss the train.”

“I wanted to see father again before I had to leave.” Albus claimed the window seat opposite her and reclined against the bench. Damballa slithered out onto his lap. “If that meant missing the train and having to floo or take a portkey to the castle then that would have been what I had to do.”

“Hello, Scorpius.” She watched the other boy fiddle with the door of the carrier for a moment before he finally succeeded in releasing the latch. Stroking a hand along the kneazle’s back as it climbed into his lap with a loud meow. Outside the window, the platform had begun to slide out of sight. “You’re sitting with us?”

“If that’s not an issue.”

“Dad didn’t say I couldn’t associate with you. Just that I had to make sure I beat you academically.” Albus stifled a snort in the side of his sleeve. “What House are you expecting? Slytherin?”

“Of course. There’s never been a Malfoy who wasn’t a snake.” He said with a smile. “And you’re expecting Gryffindor?”

“Or Ravenclaw. But most likely Gryffindor, yeah.”

“That means you’ll have a 50/50 shot of ending up with at least one person you know.” The other boy offered Albus a smile. “Which one are you hoping for? You’re half lion and half snake so it could go either way with you.”

More than half snake, actually, considering that his mother had only narrowly avoided ending up in Slytherin as well. “I’m probably going to end up a snake, but I wouldn’t mind being a lion either.” He said, fully aware of the way the other two watched him stroke the back of the golden serpent coiled in his lap. “Both Gryffindor and Slytherin would be perfectly fine.”

His bigger concern was winding up in Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw. Places without any connection to his parents. Without any claim that he could stand to call his legacy. The House of the Mind, which in itself wasn’t terrible, and the House of the Rest.”

A faint drizzle had begun to fall outside the window, blurring the country rushing by into a run of color. His two companions made attempts at speaking with him which he answered with short responses, half distracted, until Rose and Scorpius gave up and simply spoke among each other. Once certain they would no longer be paying him direct mind and unable to hold back curiosity, Albus opened the envelope and pulled out the letter inside.

_My dearly beloved son,_

_If you’re reading this letter, then it means that the worst has happened. If Tom has died, know that at the heart of matters, beneath the public persona of the big bad Dark Lord, that man loved you more than I believe he ever thought himself capable of loving anyone. If I, instead, am the one who has died, know that I wouldn’t trade you or your father, or the precious time I had with both of you, for anything. And that I know you will grow up to be better than both of us. If both of us have fallen and you share our curse of having to grow up an orphan, know that I am sorry that we had to leave you. That we love you. That we always will. And that, no matter what House you’re sorted into, what subjects you excel in, what wand you’re chosen by or who you choose to be when all is said and done Tom and I will_ **_always_ ** _be proud of you._

_You were the best thing that ever happened to both of us. And we’d never trade you for the world. No matter what happens, you will always be our son._

_In the hope that this letter never needs be read,_

_Harry_

Albus blinked hard in an effort to chase the burning feeling from his eyes. Running the pad of his thumb lightly over the faint indents in the old parchment. These letters had been formed by his mother. The indents left behind had been caused by a quill that he’d held, or at least that he’d dictated to though he preferred to think he’d written it himself. Especially since it looked like the handwriting that adorned the front of the envelope. Handwriting which Ginny had said belonged to the fallen wizard. This letter was precious to him, not only for the words that it contained but for the proof that its existence was of the fact that his mother really had been real. That he’d lived, once. That he hadn’t regretted his existence.

“Are you alright, Albus?” He jumped in his seat, prompting Damballa to let out a raspy hiss of displeasure, and turned wide green eyes on Scorpius. “That letter seems to be a bit upsetting.”

Rose was looking at him as well, now. Quietly watching the two of them interact.

“My father gave it to me this morning. When I went to visit him at St. Mungos.” He said. “It’s from my Mum. He wrote it when I was really little, before...so that I’d have something from him in his own words.”

Albus was fully prepared for Scorpius to say something along the lines of “is it really true that the Dark Lord is dying,” or to ask after the truth content of ridiculous rumor or another. So when he said “I just lost my Mum recently. I can’t imagine what it must be like to never get to know them” he felt a surge of affection for the other boy.

“It seems like everyone around me knew him more than I ever got to.” And there was no small amount of resentment inherent in that much. “I’ll learn about who he was through what they choose to tell me.” But second hand and outside of his control would never be good enough. Not really.

The conversation came more easily after that, with the letter tucked away inside the inner pocket of his robes and Damballa coiled in his lap. They told stories from their childhoods, Scorpius about visits to the Ministry where his father worked and travel to international events on the Dark Lord’s behalf. Rose of the Burrow and Albus of his time at the manor, at his father’s feet. Of learning to fly on a broom. Of perching in his lap as he was taught to shape his letters. Of being softly read bedtime stories too out of an old, worn copy of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ as he drifted off to sleep. He wasn’t certain if humanizing the terrifying figure they’d been told of in stories struck them as disappointing or not. When the trolley came by they ordered all the sweets they could possibly eat and spent the next handful hours devouring cauldron cakes and pumpkin pasties and chocolate frogs.It wasn’t until the last in his pile of chocolate frogs that he pulled a card which made him stop short.

The image, when shifted at different angles, alternated between a bone white nightmare in a black cowl to the familiar image of a proud man with red eyes, though he looked noticeably younger and lacked the streaks of grey like steel wool just barely visible around his temples. Below it, imprinted on a curling standard, was ‘Voldemort’.

_The Dark Lord and Heir of Slytherin, Voldemort is known for being both terrible and great. Possessing the highest scores in Hogwarts’ history and being the only known wizard to have achieved immortality, he brought about a new age of growth and prosperity for the wizarding world with the aid and support of his beloved late consort, Harry James Riddle nee Potter._

“Who did you get?”

Albus tore his eyes from the card and looked up at Rose. “My father.”

“Wow! He’s rare! I think they only ever printed something like a dozen of him.” Scorpius held out the card he’d pulled from one of his own frogs. “I got one of your Mum if you’d like to take a look.”

He took the card with shaking fingers. Looking down at the picture of the raven haired wizard with wire framed spectacles and green eyes so much like his own. This was only the third picture of his mother that he’d ever seen and it still struck him hard how young he’d been.

_The-Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One, and the Silver Stag he was the cause of the initial fall of the Dark Lord Voldemort, whom he later treated with and married before taking his name, during the first wizarding war. He was the youngest seeker of his time, a Hogwarts Triwizard Champion and a Gryffindor. He became Head Auror not long after his return to our world in the wake of his treaty. He died defending his son from intruders into his home._

The picture smiled at him and then reached out a hand towards the image of his father, who returned the gesture with longing in the facets of his face. “Can I hold onto this?”

“Of course.” Scorpius tore open a packet of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans and shook it in his direction. “Want one?” He took one of the beans, popped it into his mouth and immediately spat it out onto the floor of the compartment. Rose made a disgusted noise and the Malfoy Heir winced. “Vomit on your first try is really crummy luck. Grab a blue one. They’re safe.”

Albus sent the box of beans a dubious glare. “Thanks,” he said, “but I’ll pass.”

The sun had set only a handful of minutes before the Hogwarts express finally chugged to a stop in Hogsmeade Station. The red tone of the steam engine darkened with night from cherry to brick. Dragging their trunks behind them, Albus Rose and Scorpius made their way past the horseless carriages waiting for the older students and towards the hoarse and booming voice calling out “First years! First years, over here!”

“How do they move?” Albus asked as they made their way towards the towering figure who had been shouting and his flailing conductors lantern. “Do you know?”

“Thestrals.” Rose said. “Mum says you can’t see them unless you’ve witnessed and understood death, which makes most people think that they’re unlucky. Your mum could see them and he liked them a lot, and described what they looked like once.”

“Well?” Scorpius demanded as they joined the little crowd of first years which had gathered and started shuffling down a little path towards a dock. “Are you going to tell us or not?”

“They’re like Abraxians, but skeletally thin and black as night with leathery wings. They have sharp teeth and eat meat and the herd that pulls the carriages lives in the Forbidden Forest.” Her feet tapped loudly against the dried planks of the dock. “Your mum, my mum, and dad, the twins’ mum, Aunt Ginny and one of their friends named Neville used them to fly to the Ministry and confront your father at the end of their fifth year.”

Their guide was explaining, over the wooden clunk of boats and the splashing of water, that they’d be taken across the lake to the castle where they’d wait to be sorted into their Houses. Albus only mostly listened as he leapt down into one of the boats and felt it shift and heave beneath him.

“ **:** **_Be careful! I don’t want to wind up getting wet!_ ** **:”**

“ **_:Can you get cold?:”_ **

**_“:No. But I’ll tarnish!:”_ **

Stiffling a snort, he reached back to help Rose and Scorpius in after him. The boat began to glide silently forward a moment later, the faint orange glow of the paper lantern attached to its front reflecting off the dark surface of the lake: smooth and still as volcanic glass. The darkness was complete and heavy all around them, until they rounded the corner of a raised bank and the castle came into view in all its glory: spires and turrets and thousands of windows all afire with amber light. Albus stared, mouth silently agape and eyes wide. Behind him, both Rose and Scorpius gasped. None of them took their eyes off the grand contours of the castle until they were walking through its doors and simply couldn’t keep looking anymore.

They were greeted by a flurry of silver ghosts and a jolly, grey haired witch with rosy cheeks and a black and yellow ribbon tied about her pointed hat, who explained in detail what sorting was and the specific values of the four Houses. Hufflepuff: loyalty and hard work. Ravenclaw: wit and intellect. Gryffindor: bravery and nobility. Slytherin: cunning and ambition. Once through with that explanation, the witch-who’d just introduced herself as Professor Sprout, the deputy headmistress and Head of Hufflepuff House-gathered them all into a line and shepherded them through the door.

Albus had thought the sight of the castle from the outside was incredible but it had nothing on the sight of the Great Hall. Candles floated in the thousands above four long tables draped in House colors of red and yellow and blue and green. The roof was vaulted and cavernous and enchanted, somehow, to reflect the night sky outside: satin black and spiraling with constellations and shooting stars. The older years were speaking quietly among themselves; a few waiting for the sorting with something approaching rapt attention but most just appearing bored. As he passed a girl with dark pigtails at the Eagle House’s table he overhead them discussing that year’s ‘hat song’.

He didn’t have much time to consider what that might have meant before the first name was called and a brunet boy perched hesitantly on the waiting stool which had been placed at the front of the room. The ragged hat dropped over his eyes only for its seem to split into a seamless mouth which cried “Hufflepuff!”

Albus spent most of the next nearly 20 minutes looking around the space, at the fluttering banners with the mascots of each house hanging over the respective tables, at the faces of the Professors sitting at the staff table, and only refocused again when the name “Malfoy, Scorpius!” was called. His new friend summarily sorted, as expected, into Slytherin. It felt like a small eternity before his name was finally called. “Riddle, Albus!”

Silence fell like a stone and, as one, all eyes in the hall were on him; students and staff alike.

“ **_:They stare.:”_ ** Damballa hissed, raising himself up into the glittering s again and showing his metallic fangs. **_“:They stared at you as they stared at my Master. As they stared at my Master’s mate, before the Dark One slithered into his den with you and never re-emerged.:”_ **

**_“:Let them.:”_ ** Albus held his head high and drew on all the etiquette training his father had given him as he made his way up to the stool. The hat falling over his eyes blocked out all view of what was going on around him.

And then a voice spoke in his ear. _Ah, hello child. I’d begun to wonder when I’d see you._

He witnessed it talk when it shouted out the Houses, but telepathy wasn’t something he’d expected. _Um...hello._

_The son of Tom Riddle and Harry Potter. There’s only one place to put you, of course, but stay with me awhile won’t you? You know little of your parents. And I’ve a few pieces of that missing knowledge to return to you._

_You knew my parents?_

The hat laughed softly in his ear. _I’ve known all the children that have passed through these Halls. Going all the way back to the Founders’ time, when I was made._ He said. _Your father was a terror. A true basilisk who grew into his fangs swiftly. A Slytherin in every facet, though that wasn’t unexpected. He was, after all, Salazar’s Heir._ A pause. _Though I suppose that title falls to you, now._

_My father didn’t want me to come here._

The sorting hat hummed. _Of that much I’m not surprised. Tom Marvolo Riddle was always jealously defensive of his most precious treasures. And aware of the proximity of death. I suspect he knew his time was coming and wanted to spend what he could of what was left with you._

The notion sent a hollow stabbing sensation through his chest.

_Now, your mother was a horse of a different color. Ambitious, though in a very different way. Cunning and resourceful, though he had enough of a conscience on him to temper his darkest instincts. Most of the time._ It said. _I still stand by that fact that he’d have done well in Slytherin. The snake pit was, after all, where he truly belonged. But I put him with the lions instead._

_Because he asked you to._

_And he made a fine Gryffindor. Even managed to draw Godric’s sword when he most needed its aid._ The hat said. _And you, child, are nothing if not Harry Potter’s son._

_Thank you._ And he meant it.

_Of course. Now, let’s relieve them of their anticipation, little serpent prince._ In a booming voice, the hat shouted “Slytherin!”

Running a hand along Damballa’s scales to calm the adornment, Albus rose from the stool and made his way over to the emerald and silver table where Scorpius greeted him with a bright smile. They sat together and waited patiently for Rose to finally be called up. Clapping politely for her when “Gryffindor!” was bellowed into the hall.

“Well,” Scorpius said as he selected two yorkshire puddings, placing one on Albus’ plate and pouring gravy over both of them. Ignoring the less than pleased look that the other boy sent him, “that wasn’t so bad. Father told me all about the hat but I’m sure poor Rose was made to expect something else, like a troll.” The Malfoy Heir snorted around a mouthful of pastry. “Could you imagine? Having to fight with a troll in our first year? Or something else equally ridiculous like outfly a dragon with nothing but a broom.”

Somewhat reluctantly, Albus picked up the fork resting beside his plate and tucked in as well. “That doesn’t strike me as the sort of trouble that I want to be getting up to.”

Dinner passed without much in the way of fanfare, aside from the occasional glances or outright stares from the students around him and the vast majority of the Professors at the staff table, and after the plates had been cleared and the headmistress had given a brief announcement regarding general rules and expectations for all those living beneath the castle’s roof found himself alongside the other Slytherins headed down into the dungeons of the school. The prefect at their head, who’d introduced himself a Colligulus Marrow, explaining to them an easy means of recalling the proper wall which housed the hidden door and informing them of that year’s password: serpentigua.

The ensorcelled wall separating the Leaky Cauldron from Diagon Alley had rumbled and rolled aside until its bricks had formed themselves into the form of a vaulted archway. But what happened in response to the password was a different, more elegant magic. The barely noticeable serpent etched into the ancient stone transformed into a silver handle and the wall swung smoothly open. The common room on the other side was opulent in much the same was as Slytherin Manor: all black leather and dark stained wood. The far wall was made entirely of a seamless pane of glass and looked out into the depths of the Black Lake, suffusing the space with an eerie green glow. The mantle was adorned with numerous skulls-a serpent, a human and what might have been a young dragon-and a fire fueled by driftwood crackled in the hearth.

As the older Slytherins filtered up a twin set of stairs, their guide indicated the man that had been waiting for them: one of the professors who’d been sitting at the staff table. He was short, nearly bald and only describable as round, his considerable girth straining against the golden buttons down the front of the emerald vest he wore. 

“Welcome, all of you, to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am Horace Slughorn, the potions master here, and will be your Head of House from this point forward. Should any of you require assistance, or merely want to pop in for a bit of a chat, my office door is always open.” As Albus watched him smooth a pudgy hand down his front he couldn’t help but think the man to be overly congenial. His eyes were small, watery and the color of gooseberries and lingered for a moment on his face before he addressed the group again. “Now, Snake House isn’t always possessed of the greatest reputation, but ours is nevertheless a legacy to take pride in. There is much history here of success and inspiration, and I expect that each and every one of you will honor what it means to be one of Salazar’s noble House.”

Slughorn drew a scroll from within the folds of his robes with the faint crackle of parchment. “Now, the younger years stay two to a room though older students who have proven themselves exceptional may find themselves granted the privilege of private quarters. For the girls, the stairs to your rooms are on the right and for the boys, on the left. I have, here, an assigned list of roommates: hopefully everyone here can get along, though if it’s truly an unsalvageable situation I’m certain I can be convinced to shift some of you around.”

Had his father ever mentioned Slughorn? He’d spoken so little of his past. Albus racked his memory for information on the man but couldn’t come up with anything. Paying only enough attention to hear that he, luckily-or perhaps by his father’s, or the Head Auror’s design-had been roomed with Scorpius. Dismissing his Head of House for the time being, Albus turned to follow his new roommate up the correct set of stairs but a restraining hand on his shoulder kept him in place.When he turned back, Slughorn was looking at him with that sad grave expression.

“You have your mother’s eyes.” He said softly. “As Harry had his mother’s eyes before you. I can see them both in you, you know? Your mother and your father.”

Albus felt his eyes go wide. “You knew my parents?”

“Knew them? I taught them, my dear boy.” He said. “Come and see me during your free period, tomorrow. I’ve a few tales of them to tell you. Some pictures and articles you might want to see. It could never hope to do either of them justice, but you’re right to those memories all the same. You’ll get your schedule at breakfast and we can arrange things then,”

“Yes, Sir.”

Pleased by his agreement, the rotund potions master patted him lightly on the back and motioned towards the stairs. “Marvelous! Marvelous! Now, don’t let me keep you; I’m sure you must be exhausted. Go join young Mr. Malfoy in your rooms and get some rest: one’s first day of their first term is always a long one.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Albus gladly left him standing in the common room, heading up the indicated stairs. Finding his way without too much trouble to a door with a silver plaque on it which read Albus Riddle: Scorpius Malfoy. His roommate was already sprawled out atop his bed with his black kneazle coiled up on his stomach. After exchanging a nod with the other boy, he drew the curtains around his four poster shut and busied himself with getting ready for bed.


	5. A Lion's Footsteps

It wasn’t more than an hour after Albus had left that Tom found himself once more with company. Draco Malfoy was no longer the sleet white and petrified teenaged wizard hardly able to stand being in his presence and now presented the cold calm outward appearance he’d have expected out of Lucius’ heir, but that didn’t mean he didn’t still regard him with some fear, knowing what all he was capable of even while significantly indisposed; a matter which Harry had often bemoaned about his partner on the Auror force. So, he allowed the silence to draw out a few moments longer than was strictly necessary before he finally turned his head to address him.

“Head Auror Malfoy.” Harry had tried to get him to call him Draco, and Draco to call him Tom, for months. Even more so after the blonde had been chosen as their son’s other Godparent. But it had never stuck on either side. “I take it that the Hogwarts Express has departed from the station?”

“Yes, my Lord.” The younger man said. “Rosier and Parkinson are both on board as well, in the event that anything is attempted to get to the train.”

“Good.” Tom said. “In just over eight hours, my son will be safely at school. Merlin willing, he won’t find untoward trouble there.”

“You specifically requested my presence after the train left, my Lord?”

“Yes. I have a simple task for you; even Crabbe or Goyle could complete it, but I’m not of a mind to trust neanderthals with performing something of such importance.” He said. “I require you to return to my manor and retrieve an item for me. It’s of no monetary or magical value to anyone, but it’s a precious memento to me and I desire it's return. Bring it to me.”

“I’ll retrieve it for you immediately.” Draco promised smoothly. Tom forcibly held down an irritated twitch. “Might I ask what it is you’re looking for?”

“A sea stone; pale in color, flecked with black and about the size of an egg.” Tom could still remember, clearly, the day it had been gifted to him. When Harry, smiling and smelling of sun and sea air, had pressed it gently into his palm, wrapped Tom’s fingers delicately around it and told him that it was a resurrection stone. And over the years that had passed since his death it had served him as such. Loyally. Though not in the same manner as the legendary Hallow. “You’ll find it in the top drawer of the desk in my study. Do try to be swift about it.”

Draco nodded at him and started towards the door. “I’ll head out right away and should be back within the hour.” Tom watched him go until the younger man’s form disappeared around the threshold of the door.

Even after his appearance had reverted back to something almost human, even now that he was in rapidly declining health and barely able to clammer out of bed, the mere presence of the Dark Lord was enough to set frost crawling across his skin. Draco suppressed a shudder, relieved to have escaped his direct gaze, and swept across the main lobby of the hospital. Apparating with a loud crack as soon as he emerged from the floo into the receiving room of Malfoy manor.

He landed just at the edge of the wards of Slytherin manor and tapped an intricate pattern against the wrought iron gate which rose before him. Pushing it open with a great creak and the low drag of metal against gravel and then starting up the winding path. The lush foliage of the labyrinthine gardens which, until recently, had been all that Albus had known of the world pressed in on both sides as he approached the daunting face of the massive building. Almost castle-like in its appearance and three floors tall, it was finished in smoke grey sea stone taken at Harry’s behest from the cliffs around Greyside manor and sported multiple narrow chimneys atop its sharply slanted roofs. The entry was barred by a sturdy pair of ebony wood doors crowned with a tympanum of the kidnapping of Persephone by Hades. Why the pair who should have come to inhabit the house together had considered that myth in particular so romantic Draco doubted he’d ever understand. Harry had tried to explain to him, once, what their reasoning had been. Something about parallels and developed understandings and how it apparently reflected the relationship that he himself had with the Dark Lord in some way.

Harry had never gotten the chance to pass beneath the mural. Himself, in a way, taken by Hades.

Draco shook himself and reached for the door. Pulling it open and ignoring the gentle clink of the jostled door knocker, heavy and bronze and shaped like a lion, he stepped inside. There was a hush in the entry room which wasn’t surprising, considering that the expansive building was now inhabited only by the elves that the Dark Lord kept under his employ. The tiles on the floor were black and shiny and projected his reflection clear as day as he moved to the grand staircase and started towards the second floor. A hallway hung with tapestries and lined in glass cases full of magical artifacts opened up before him. Draco thought he caught sight of Harry’s invisibility cloak and what might have been the Marauder’s Map secured in one of them but didn’t stop to get a good enough look to know for sure.

The Dark Lord’s study was midway down the hall. The door to it left hanging ajar. The healers who had rushed through to collect the man and bring him to St. Mungo’s for treatment hadn’t spared much thought for what state they left the room in. Articles and research papers on everything from magical exhaustion to dragon pox had been scattered about across the floor. Shards of glass from what might once have been a cup and bottle-firewhiskey, judging by the displaced label-scattered among the mess like fallen snow. The desk-a massive heavy thing which looked like it could trip a charging Mountain Troll-had been nudged aside at an odd angle and abandoned there. The last time he’d seen destruction like this had been in the height of the second war when the Death Eaters had just finished up a raid. It reminded him, in many ways, of the state of the room Slughorn had trashed had been left in when they’d gone to recruit him to return to teaching which Harry had once described to him. The heavy velvet curtains hung over the window smothered what light might have made it into the space, leaving it almost intolerably dim.

“Lumos.” The tip of his wand flared with a bright white light which shed a harsh glow over the chaos, warping it further. Draco pressed forward dutifully, ignoring the sharp crunching noises of the glass beneath his feet as he circled around behind the desk and pulled open the top drawer. The bottom scraping softly against the inner tracks as it moved. The stone he’d been sent for rested precisely where he’d been told it would and its matte finish winked back at him. He reached down and picked it up. Weighing it in his hand. Cold and smooth and dry against his palm, it was...unassuming. Little different than any other ocean beaten stone which might have been picked up from any number of rivers or beaches throughout Britain. As he stowed it away in the pocket of his robes, Draco couldn’t help but wonder what it was about the seemingly unimportant object that would provoke the Dark Lord to not only hold onto it but ask for it as he died. But he had the answer pretty quickly.

In some way, it must have been attached to Harry.

Draco turned towards the hearth and raised his wand. The stark pale light panning over the layered oil painting hung high above the desk. Green eyes just slightly too light in tone to really be his and face frozen in a smile; well painted, he supposed, but lacking the sentience or motion that would have come with a wizarding portrait. Sometimes, he wondered why his late friend had deemed it better to have it done by a Muggle; to never have a magical equivalent commissioned despite being pushed to do so by his husband. Then again, considering how badly the man had fallen to pieces after his death, maybe Harry had known that having a magical portrait of himself would have ultimately driven the man to ruin even sooner.

“We all miss you, you know?” Even knowing that it couldn’t respond, Draco felt compelled in that moment to speak to the inanimate portrait of the raven. “His world ended the day that you died, but he did the best that he could for your son. The Dark-Tom will be with you again soon and Albus, he’ll be in good hands. None of us will let anything happen to him.”

Those lifeless eyes stared down at him in silence. Outside the manor, the wind blew the branches of one of the property’s many trees against the window. Extinguishing his wand and stowing it away in the sheath on his wrist, the Head Auror quickly made his way out of the room and down the hall. Exiting the manor full of all that could have been but had never come to pass, with its echoing silence and smiling ghosts, and taking long strides down the meandering path and disapparating the instant that he escaped the reach of the property’s wards. Flooing back to St. Mungos and retreading the path to the Dark Lord’s door. None of the healers made an effort to stop him as he raised his fist to knock.

“Come in.”

Taking a moment further to shore up his nerves Draco turned the knob and stepped inside. The Dark Lord was lying down, now. From the presence of a set of empty potions vials sitting on top of the bedside table, alongside a book in a language he couldn’t read, it looked as if the healer treating him had just left.

“You have it?” there was the threat of ice behind his words. Red eyes narrowed and sharp. “Surely you wouldn’t be foolish enough to come back here, to me, without what I asked for.”

Struggling to keep his nerve, he reached into the pocket of his robe and pulled out the stone in question. Quickly stepping forward and placing it in the man’s outstretched, long fingered hand. The effect was immediate and obvious. The set of the Dark Lord’s shoulders releasing their tension as he sank further back into the pillows behind him with a sigh. Gripping the stone as if it were the only thing holding him there, in that moment.

“Thank you, Draco.”

That nearly made him turn and run out of the room. What was happening? Had the Dark Lord really just thanked him? Had he really just used his name? “Of course, my Lord.” He extended a respectful nod in the older man’s direction. “Is there anything else that I can do for you?”

“Leave me.”

That was an order Draco was all too happy to fulfill, shutting the door behind him and leaving Tom once more alone. Sighing, he looked down at the seastone in his palm. Turned it in his hand. Once. Twice. But stopped short at the third time. Raising it to his lips and closing his eyes.

I love you, Harry. The stone was cool and smooth and carried with it the faintly smokey smell of the drawer it had inhabited for over a decade. All hints of the sea it had been taken from, and of the man who’d gifted it to him one day seemingly out of the blue, were gone. It won’t be long, now.

  
  


Albus was awoken for his first day of school when Scorpius’ kneazle, Boudica, draped herself across his face with a very self satisfied mew. Grumbling under his breath, he pushed the feline gently aside and sat up. Spitting out a couple of short hairs and pushing the deep green curtains of his four-poster aside, allowing the light from the lake to spill across his bed.

“Scorpius!” Metal rungs rattled softly as the Malfoy Heir pushed the curtains of his own bed aside, blinking at him blearily. He pointed at the young kneazle, who was now curiously prodding at a grumbling Damballa with a white-toed paw. “Your cat has decided to act as an alarm spell for me.”

“Sorry.” He threw his legs out of bed and hastily scooped up the kneazle. Ignoring the furball’s mew of displeasure. “I’m not sure how she got out of my bed and into yours.” Turning his attention to the kitten and scratching behind her ears, he chidded “you can’t be waking him up whenever you please, Boudica. It’s impolite!”

Her responding “merp” didn’t appear to be terribly concerned with that much.

Rubbing sleep off of his face, Albus did his best to put his hair in order as Damballa coiled up beside his knee. Eyeing both Scorpius and the kneazle he was cradling in his arms. “ **:Fur creatures are all the same. Overly affectionate and incapable of recognizing when their presence and actions aren’t appreciated.:** ” The enchanted bracelet said. “ **I don’t understand what it is that two legs seem to see in them when they aren’t good for much of anything. Can’t even talk.:”**

 **“:They’re not terrible.:”** Albus would always prefer snakes, though. Or owls. As he picked Damballa up and draped his cool body over his shoulders, he noticed the other boy staring. “Something wrong?”

“Not at all. It’s just cool.” He said. “I’ve never gotten to hear the snake language until yesterday when I met you on the train. But father has told me about a few of the times he’s heard it.” Dropping the kitten onto his bed and walking around to the front of his trunk, he propped open the lid and began to get dressed. Albus, rising from his own bed, did the same. “One time, in their second year, they had a dueling club and my father and your mum were paired together. He used Serpensortia to summon a cobra and your mum revealed he was a parselmouth in front of the entire school to stop the snake from biting anyone.”

Interesting. “How did that go? Do you know?”

“They mistook him for the Heir of Slytherin and ostracized him for the rest of that year.” Marvelous. “But Parseltongue isn’t looked down on anymore. Even the hyper-light aligned families who are afraid of your father and dislike him have to admit that he made our world better. No one is going to give you trouble for it. In fact, I’d argue they expect you to have the gift since both of your parents did.”

“I don’t particularly care what other people think about me.” That wasn’t entirely true but people who would direct snap judgements at him on factors he had no control over were of no worth to him. “Are you ready to go down to breakfast? We’re supposed to get our schedules and I don’t want to miss them being handed out.”

“Yeah, I’m ready. We should get our books together now, though, so that we won’t have to come back here before our first class.” Scorpius said.

“Good idea.”

They spent the next five minutes cramming their textbooks into their bags, then set off out of Slytherin’s common room towards the great hall. They were among the first snakes to arrive at the green and silver draped table and happily chose seats somewhere towards the middle. Tucking into a breakfast of scrambled eggs and bacon while waiting for the chaos of the morning post to pass-Albus purposefully avoiding looking at the front page of The Daily Prophet in case it displayed further news of his father’s condition-and the Heads of House to make their way down the lengths of the tables and hand each and every one of them their schedules.

“Mind letting me see your schedule, Albus?” He blinked at the other boy dumbly for a moment before handing it over. Scorpius laid them both down on the table and poured over them, as if they were a set of ancient scrolls with the potential to contain the meaning of life. “Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms and then lunch. After that it's Flying, History of Magic, Herbology, Potions, a free period and then our introductory Astronomy class at midnight. Looks like we have the same classes.”

“We are in the same House, Scorpius. And we can’t choose extracurriculars until third year.”

At this much, the other boy looked almost embarrassed and handed back his schedule. “Still good to check.”

“Which House do we have classes with?” Albus adjusted his grip on his schedule and shifted Damballa aside on his shoulder so he could more comfortably rest the strap of his bag there. “Do you know?”

“Father said that Slytherin and Gryffindor always had classes together when he was in school. But I don’t know if that’s still the case. We’ll check with Rose and see if her schedule lines up with ours.” He peered through the crowd for a moment, then reached up to wave the red haired witch over. “There she is.”

“Morning Albus. Scorpius.” The young Gryffindor chirped once she was in earshot.

“Morning, Rosie.” Albus returned. “What’s your first class?”

“Transfiguration, then Defense. Why?”

“Because we’re trying to figure out if we have the same schedule. “Scorpius said. “May I see yours?”

“We’re probably together.” She said, though she handed it over to him anyway. “Gryffindor and Slytherin usually are.”

“No sense in not making sure things haven’t changed.” Albus said.

“They haven’t.” Scorpius handed the schedule back. “We’re going to be together for all our classes, at least until third year. And even then we’ll only be apart for electives. Looks like the three of us are going to be great friends.”

“I’d hope so.” Albus said. “We’re basically family.”

“I’ve heard a lot about the electives offered at this school.” Rose said. “Arithmancy and Ancient Runes both sound amazing. And Care of Magical Creatures sounds interesting too especially considering that Professor Hagrid always brings in amazing creatures.”

“Professor Hagrid got my father mauled by a hippogryph.” Scorpius said rather dryly.

That explained why Ginny, and apparently his mother before her, had thought the shape of the man’s patronus was funny. “What about Divination?”

“Divination isn’t worth the time.” Rose sniffed.

“That depends on which teacher you get for it.” Scorpius said. “The centaur is, apparently, a good teacher though his approach is a bit...exotic.”

“Oh, please. There’s no worth in the subject and no such thing as actual seers: they’re all just charlatans.”

“There was a prophecy about my parents.” Though he didn’t know what it had said. Didn’t know if his father knew. If his mother had ever told him. Even so, those words served to silence the argument before it could truly begin.

Their first class of the day, Transfiguration, was taught by the Headmistress and Head of Gryffindor House, Professor McGonagall. A tall, thin, severe looking witch dressed in dark green robes. They introduced themselves for the first ten minutes, and then spent the remainder of the lecture going over the Transfiguration Alphabet, the main formula behind the subject which consisted of five variables-body weight (a), viciousness (v), wand power (w), concentration (c) and a fifth unknown variable noted down only as (z)-and the abstract theory of transfiguring a pig into a desk.

It was as they were gathering their things to head to their next lesson when the Professor called “Mr. Riddle, a word?” and Albus was forced to watch his two friends exit the room with promises to wait out in the hall.

“Have I done something wrong, Professor?” he asked as he cautiously approached her.

“Nothing wrong at all, Mr. Riddle. And I won’t be keeping you long. I merely wanted to ask you to have lunch with me in the Head Office; as your mother was both a student of mine and a member of my House I knew him well and thought you might like to hear a story or two.”

“I...yes, of course. I’ll admit I don’t know a lot about him so anything that anyone might want to tell me would be greatly appreciated.”

“The password for the current moment, is ‘golden’.” She looked him over a moment, pursed her lips and then said “I must ask, Mr. Riddle, if you were left a certain map and a cloak of magical origin which belonged to Harry? There’s little anyone here could do to prevent your marauding if you were, but I’d appreciate a warning if the Potter brand of mischief is returning to these halls.”

Certain map? Cloak of magical origin? What those phrases could possibly mean escaped him. Had those objects belonged to his mother? Clearly, while he’d been there, they’d been used to cause a not inconsiderable amount of chaos during his time in Hogwarts’ halls. “I’ve never heard of those things before but I can ask father when I next write to him. I’m sure he’d give them to me if I asked, if he has them.”

“That isn’t necessary, Mr. Riddle.” Her voice sounded almost strained, as if the thought of such a thing caused her some distress. Albus would at least have to ask his godparents, then, about what his mother had used the mentioned cloak and map to do which had left the castle’s teaching staff so traumatized. “Now, run along before you wind up late for Professor Taylor’s class.”

Scorpius and Rose, as promised, were waiting for him not far outside of the Transfiguration classroom’s door. Together they hurried across the castle to the Defense class where Professor Talyor, a rather unmemorable man with brown hair, taught them the basics of the wand lighting charm. Rose succeeded in casting it after only five tries. Albus and Scorpius had considerably more difficulty, but both managed to light the tips of their wands before the period was over.

Professor Flitwick was an incredibly short man who, Scorpius explained to him in a hushed tone upon noticing his surprise, was a half-goblin. The man who, from Albus’ recollection, was also the Head of Ravenclaw House, was bright and bubbly with a high squeaky voice. He taught them the levitation charm. This time, Scorpius caught on before Rose but only by one attempt. Albus hovered his feather in front of Damballa and watched the enchanted snake follow its motion with an interested hiss.

When lunch rolled around at last, he excused himself from the company of his friends with a promise to see them during their flying lesson and made his way through the numerous twisting hallways and moving staircases until he arrived at last in front of the gargoyle baring entrance to the Head Office.

“Golden.” The statue leapt aside and Albus made his way up the stairs. Raising a fist to knock on the door he found at the top and pushing it open upon being called in.

Professor McGonagall was sitting behind a large sturdy desk not unlike the one in his father’s study at the manor. Various spindly silver objects he couldn’t even begin to guess at the function of were scattered about and emitted a low ambience of whistles and whirring. A cabinet to the right of the door stood open alongside a rack of labeled vials filled with something silver, but whatever else had been in there had been removed; temporarily or permanently he had no way of knowing. Portraits of past Headmasters and Headmistresses lined the walls from floor to ceiling and one of them-a man with a very long white beard, sparkling blue eyes and a set of half moon glasses-offered him a knowing smile.

“Have a seat, Mr. Riddle.” A large, comfortable chair had been summoned in front of the desk, atop which sat a tray of tea and sandwiches. He settled himself, only somewhat hesitantly, into it and, at the older woman’s expectant look, poured himself a cup of tea. “How has your first day of classes been so far?”

“Good, Ma’am.” He picked up a sandwich but made no move to eat it. “I haven’t gotten to attend all of my classes yet, but I think I’ll most enjoy potions.” The subject sounded particularly interesting, even if the Professor struck him as a bit lackluster.

“Your father and I were peers, though I didn’t know him more than in passing. And all of his scores were so good that it’s hard to say what his favorite subject was, though I’d heard rumors he had an almost unhealthy fascination with Seers and Divination.” Professor McGonagall said. “As for your mother, he excelled at Defense Against the Dark Arts but was admittedly average at every other class. Aside from potions, where he performed terribly, though whether that was due to a genuine deficiency or Severus Snape’s ridiculous grudge against him is hard to say. Slughorn seemed to think him gifted, though he only taught him for a year.”

“The chocolate frog card for him says he was the youngest seeker in a generation.”

“He was a natural flier and a boon to Gryffindor House. We rarely lost a game while he was airborne for us.” She said. “Though I’d advise you not to allow his good fortune to blind you to the fact that disobeying Madam Hooch's rules will be met with detention.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Albus took a bite of his sandwich.

“Your mother was a true Gryffindor. Brave and noble and always concerned with those around him. Some might say he had a savior complex which, considering what many in our world saw him as, I suppose is fitting.” She said. “And the relationship that he had with your father was a truly special one, though that wasn’t to say they were without their problems. Or that people looking on didn’t judge them for what they couldn’t understand…”

_“Honestly, I can’t bloody believe this! Rita, up to her old nonsense again; I knew allowing her to register was a bloody bad idea!” The young Head Auror stormed around her office like an agitated Nogtail, waving the latest issue of The Daily Prophet about like a flag with the crackle of paper. “I might just have to pay her a visit and kill her myself! I’m Head Auror! I could get away with it! And if I can’t then Tom will pardon me so I won’t end up in Azkaban! Yeah. That might be a good idea.”_

_“If you’re truly considering murder so casually I fear your husband-to-be has begun rubbing off on you.” Minerva, with no small amount of fond exasperation, watched her ex-student continue to pace and flail the newspaper around. “Now, Potter, I’m going to ask you to sit down and have a biscuit. Explain to me what’s going on.”_

_Rather much like he was still a teenager and not a High Ranking military figure and the Consort of the Dark Lord of Britain, Harry let out a highly offended sounding huff and threw himself down into the nearest chair. Tossing the Prophet down on top of her desk as if it were a plague soaked rag and proceeding to glare at it as if his gaze alone could set the thing aflame._

**_Beauty and the Beast: The Real Reason Head Auror Potter Stands At The Dark Lord’s Side. Has the Basilisk of Britain Used A Love Potion?_ ** _Beneath the glaring headline was a photograph of the ball the night prior: the Dark Lord leaning down to kiss him, the courtship bracelet proudly displayed on the little raven’s wrist._

 _“It’s not the first time to so-called press has commented on our relationship, which is none of their bloody sarding business mind, but it is the first time any of those vultures have dared to be so blatant!” He snarled at the paper, hatred in his gaze unlike anything she’d seen in him since the war. In that moment, her former student really did resemble a lion. “And it bothers him, Minerva. He’s never admitted it, but I know it does. And to suggest love potion-the bint goes on to specifically mention_ **_Amortentia_ ** _later on in the article-is a bridge too far! I know that next to no one is aware that it’s a sensitive topic for him, let alone the reason, but_ **_Merlin_ ** _!”_

_“Don’t think that I didn’t mean it when I told you that my door, should you ever need it, was open but shouldn’t you be with the Dark Lord if this is truly such a point of stress?”_

_His expression shifted again, this time into a choleric frown. “If I had the option, I would be. But Tom’s locked himself in the potions lab and won’t come out or tell me what he’s doing.” Harry said. “His go too for stress relief when he’s upset either involves a lot less clothes or torturing someone and I can’t tell if this change in pattern is a sign of moral progress or a red flag.”_

_A knock on her office door cut off any response she might have made. She looked up, catching sight of Harry in her peripheral vision as he straightened up and turned to look over the back of his chair. “Come in.” The knob turned, the door swung open and a man stepped into the room. His robe was long and stark black. Atop his head was a nest of well groomed dark brown curls and his face carved and statuesque in its features. Recognizable as the Dark Lord only by the red slit pupil eyes he still bore._

_Harry was out of his seat an instant later. Agitation once more clear in the set of his shoulders and the way he all but charged across the room towards the taller man. The elder wand clenched in his fist spitting a tongue of flame onto the tiled flour. “What. Did. You. Do?” Unphased by the indignant Gryffindor in front of him, the Dark Lord pulled the smaller man close. Smiling when he writhed in his arms in an effort to get free, even as his look of displeasure bled most of its force. “A glamor? A charm? Some sort of polyjuice potion, except it turns you into yourself? And for what?_ **_Because of bloody Skeeter and her big bloody mouth?”_ **

_Gently keeping his consort restrained, courtship bracelet rattling on his wrist, he said “I’ve been developing the potion that I took for quite a while, Harry. I’d have preferred to have tested it before I used it, but...the enlightening article produced by that woman made me realize I didn’t have that kind of time.” Derision dripped from every word as he ran long, pale fingers through the smaller wizard’s unruly hair. “I’d thought the result would please you. The only thing that didn’t revert were my eyes.”_

_“I am pleased with the result but that’s not the_ **_point_ ** _Tom!” He snapped. “I love_ **_you_ ** _! Not your face! Be it Tom Riddle’s or Lord Snakiness! You didn’t need to_ **_do_ ** _this; I wasn’t going to be suddenly frightened off because the sarding_ **_Prophet_ ** _shed light on the fact that you weren’t conventionally attractive. I wear glasses, I’m not_ **_completely_ ** _blind!”_

_The older man chuckled and lay a tender hand against his cheek. Watching in fascination as Harry leaned into his touch. “I know, my darling. In fact, I’d argue that you tend to see more than most.” He said. “But this wasn’t about looking more pleasing to you, though I’ll admit that was an included boon.”_

_“Then why?”_

_“Because it was doing you harm.”_

_“Bullocks!”_

_“No, precious.” Gently, but firmly, the Dark Lord forced the smaller wizard not to turn away. “You may not want to admit it, but it’s true. And this article proves it. The way I looked was doing you social and political damage. Now, that’s been remedied. Besides, I no longer had a need for the face of a nightmare.”_

_The little raven’s nose scrunched up and he buried his face in the front of the Dark Lord’s robes. Grumbling a barely audible “but you hate your father’s face.”_

_“Not as much as I hate not doing the very best that I can for you.” He said. “Now, hush. This can’t be undone. And I do not regret my choice.” A noncommittal noise was all her former student could spare in response. The Dark Lord continued to stroke his consort’s hair and, when he caught her watching, flashed his teeth in what might have been meant as a smile. “And no. You may not kill Skeeter. She might yet turn out to prove herself useful.”_

“To my knowledge,” Professor McGonagall said rather tartly, “she never did. Not that I’d normally be one to advocate for the murder of journalists.”

Rita Skeeter sounded like something a fair bit less dignified than a reporter but Albus kept his mouth shut on that much. “Father has mentioned that she wrote an article about mum cheating on him with him after he altered his appearance.”

The old witch in front of him huffed. “She certainly did, and he wasn’t pleased about that much. Not at all. But all I know of the matter is that Harry talked him down; likely more out of spite than charity.”

Somehow, in an incredibly twisted way, the thought of his parents playing ‘if I can’t kill her then neither can you’ seemed almost endearing. “He never said ‘I love you’ while my mum was still alive.” He said. “I think it’s his biggest regret.”

“He may not have told him, but he never missed a chance to display it. Harry knew.” She assured him. “Finish up your tea. Madam Hooch should be expecting you soon.”

Nodding at her dismissal, Albus picked up his tea.


	6. The Augury's Eye

The property was a rather nondescript one, belonging to an all but disconnected offshoot of the Smith line. Far enough removed from the main branch to not be pegged as a potential staging ground for their efforts. And certainly not a place where Riddle’s mutts-even the smart ones, like the Malfoy brat-would ever think to look for them. Amos appeared at the far end of the wards with an echoing crack which rapidly faded among the hiss and sigh of the wind through the nearby trees. His robes flickered around his ankles as he wove between the scattered stones of numerous cairnes which had once stood there, headed towards the manor’s door.

It had only been a few days since he’d seen the boy, but there was no denying who it was. Not with those eyes. The same eyes as the traitor who’d whelped him; who’d borne the bastard’s evil seed. There was no forgetting those eyes. Not when he’d seen then, tear glazed and wretched with guilt, on the night his precious Cedric had been cut down by the monster he’d go on to marry. Not with how good of a look at them he’d gotten, set and defiant, during the raid on Greyside…

_ There was a moment of utter stillness immediately following their arrival in the entry room of the giant sea side manor. The Head Auror, drawn running at the fall of the wards surrounding the property, froze on the stairs at the crack of their apparitions. Wand of elder clutched white knuckled in his hand. Eyes wide and set and stubborn, though with a note of what almost looked like fear buried in their depths. _

_ Then, like a striking snake, his wand whipped upwards and he shouted “reducto!” The pale blue bolt of light exploded against the ceiling and brought it crashing down around their ears. Shouts of alarm and pain went up around him as those who’d come with him scattered but Amos didn’t bother looking back. Lurching after the little raven, who’d turned and fled up the stairs. _

_ The so-called Chosen One, during the second war, would have stood his ground. Not fled. What was he planning? To hole himself up somewhere until help arrived? To find that damned snake of his and contact his wicked husband, ruining all the work and sacrifice they’d put into the distraction they’d prepared for the Basilisk? He wouldn’t allow it! _

_ Rounding the corner of the stairs as the smaller man was reaching for a door, he shot a stinging jinx at him. The white light striking the back of his knuckles. Harry yelped like a beaten dog and recoiled. Stumbling backwards and toppling onto the tile floor. Amos pointed his wand at him and bellowed “incarcerous!” _

_ “Protego!” He might not have been as inclined as he once was to stand and fight but his reflexes hadn’t dulled. The brilliant shield charm deflecting his spell, knocking it off course and into the nearby wall. “Stupefy!” But his position sent the stunner whizzing harmlessly over Amos’ shoulder. The young Head Auror clawed his way back onto his feet and kept running down the hall. Darting around another corner and, briefly, out of sight. _

_ Wand raised and ready, Amos rounded the corner as well. Prepared for a bombardment of spells from the Defense prodigy only to hear the tell tale click of a closing door. A heavy mahogany door which had been promptly spelled to be as securely locked as a vault at Gringotts. The sounds of fighting had begun to echo up from the floor below. It was clear that the Dark Lord had returned. He didn’t have much time if he was going to finish what he’d come to do; to make the monster who’d taken his Cedric suffer the same way that he had. To force him to hold the dead body of his only child and know the one responsible for it had escaped his reach. _

_ He pointed his wand at the door. “Bombarda!” The explosion was a reddish yellow color and blasted the door off its hinges. The young man inside letting out a cry of alarm and throwing himself over the crib. Shielding the wailing creature inside with his body as debris flew across the nursery and dust and ashes scattered over the floor. He spun to face him, raised his arm to fight but was promptly disarmed. The length of elder clattering to the ground among the mess, out of reach. Harry’s eyes were wide behind his wire rimmed glasses. His hands clenched around the bars of the crib as he kept the wailing infant hidden from his sight. Panic written in the set of his pale face. Scar stark against his forehead. “Move!” _

_ “No!” _

_ “Get out of the bloody way!” _

_ “Never!” Damn this boy! It was bad enough that he’d given up the war. Bad enough he’d refused to lift a finger to help them. Bad enough that he’d married the monster that had made all their lives hell. But now he’d stand between him and the vengeance he was owed? _

_ “I won’t say it again, Potter!” He roared. “ _ **_Move!”_ **

_ He didn;t flinch. Didn’t so much as shift aside from where he stood. Just set his jaw and stared him down. “You’ll have to kill me first if you want to lay a finger on my son!” _

_ It was impulse and anger that drove him to do it. A snap decision which saw him pointing his wand at the little traitor’s heart. “Avada kedavra!” The bolt of vibrant green light struck him square in the chest and, for a moment, he stood there. Resigned sadness in place of the fear which should have been there. Then the color faded from his eyes and, gracelessly, the Boy-Who-Lived-No-More crumpled to the floor. _

_ Something in the hall let out an inhuman scream. The child in the crib wailed even louder than before, staring at the lifeless form on the ground, but he couldn’t raise his wand to him now. Not with the risk that the same protections which had saved the fallen raven as an infant would set. He’d have to be patient. Wait until whatever blood magic may or may not have been invoked had faded to return and finish the job. _

_ Not ideal but there simply wasn’t time to determine a better course of action. The Dark Lord appeared in the doorway and, for a brief moment as he disapparated away, he caught a glimpse of the grief on his face. It almost left him looking human. _

At least Potter had been good for something, in the end. In death, he’d succeeded in destroying Voldemort. The Basilisk of Britain had disappeared from the public eye not long after and, it seemed, had begun a concerted effort to drink himself into a grave which he’d very nearly succeeded in.

He was running out of time to make the monster suffer. They’d have to make a move on the boy soon. Strike while he was least protected. And do something in the meanwhile to break the tension no doubt held by the current Head Auror and the Death Eaters in hopes of drawing their attention away.

The Dark Lord had taken everything from him, and it was far more than time that he repaid the favor.

  
  
  


Albus had been flying for almost as long as he could walk. His father was able to fly with only the wind and his own magic. His mother had been the youngest seeker in a generation and a natural flier. Needles to say, their first flying lesson had been rather boring and if things continued on like this he might very well lose his mind.

The broom had leapt up into his outstretched palm the instant he’d said “up!” Scorpius and Rose hadn’t been far behind and the three of them had spent the remainder of the class hovering about 20 feet in the air watching the brooms of the majority of their class either lift a few inches or merely roll about on the grass.

“I don’t know how we’re going to make it through the next class.” Scorpius bemoaned as they trotted down the cavernous hall towards History of Magic. “Binns is dead boring. Literally! He’s a bloody ghost!”

“A ghost?” Albus repeated quizzically. “Really?”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s just a rumor Scorpius. Something parents tell their children just to see if they’ll believe it.” Rose said. 

But the young Malfoy shook his head and shifted his bag on his shoulder. “Father says that he’s taught at Hogwarts for a long time. Before our grandparents. I think he was here when your father went to school, Albus, though I believe he was still alive at that point.” He said. “Rumor has it he died one day in a staff meeting, just keeled over in his chair, and that he’s never realized it. And all he teaches is the same lesson on the Goblin Wars.”

“Goblin Wars?” Albus frowned. “I don’t much fancy being forced to listen to the same lecture for 7 years. Do you?”

“That’s ridiculous, boys! No one would be able to pass their O.W.Ls if that were the case. Never mind their N.E.W.Ts!”

Ignoring Rose’s instances to the contrary, Scorpius turned to Albus-angling his body so that he was all but walking backwards-and asked “what were you most hoping we’d learn about in History of Magic?”

His answer was an obvious one, more than likely, and Albus couldn’t help but blush. “I’d like to know about the First and Second Wizarding Wars. Especially the Second one.” He said. “We had some books on it in the library at Slytherin Manor but father was always careful to make sure they were scrubbed of any real detail.”

The Malfoy Heir made a curious noise, for a brief moment sounding like his kneazle kitten, then said “I’ll ask father if I can lend you some of the books that I read to learn about it. They’re more objective than asking any of the veterans would be and they’re a lot more interesting than ‘Dusty’ Binns. Ouch Rose!”

Scorpius directed a betrayed gaze to their red headed friend, who’d cuffed him on the arm. “We do not speak so disrespectfully of Professors, Scorpius!”

The other boy heaved an extremely put upon sigh. Albus laughed as they entered the classroom, only for his mirth to die a swift death upon seeing that Binns was, indeed, a ghost. As the spectral Professor began droning on about the Goblin Wars, the Malfoy Heir pulled out a deck of Muggle playing cards and they spent the rest of the lesson playing Egyptian Rat Screw-which, apparently, Albus’ mother had taught his father one night during a stakeout-while Rose periodically sent them dirty looks. Finally stopping when Damballa hissed at them to stop hitting each other.

Herbology was uneventful; they were shown the different greenhouses and walked through the rules of properly handling potentially sentient, potentially dangerous magical plants then sent on their way by the smiling Professor Sprout.

“Slughorn is Slytherin’s Head of House, isn’t he? So the two of you have met him already?” Rose looked almost nervous as they charted the beginning to become familiar path down into the dungeons.

Albus looked at her quizzically while Scorpius said “yeah, why?”

“Because...I’ve just heard some things about him. That he has a ‘collecting habit’.”

“Collecting?” he raised an eyebrow, confused.

Scorpius, though, knew what she was talking about immediately because he piped up “oh, you mean the Slug Club? Father did tell me about that.” He said. “He wasn’t in it while he was in school, but your Mum was, Rose. And both of your parents, Albus.”

“The Slug Club?” Not a particularly flattering name, in his opinion.

“A circle of favorites, from how it was explained to me.” Rose said. “He’d invite them to parties. Connect them to other Slug Club members. Get them job opportunities and the like. But he’d always get some benefit out of it: gifts. Concert tickets. Grants. Rare ingredients. Your father would always give him his favorite candy…”

“It’s delightfully Slytherin of him, if you ask me. Good to know that he’s our Head of House for a reason. Didn’t really seem like snake material last night, did he?” Scorpius said. “Father says he’s likely to want all three of us, given that Rose’s parents are war veterans, my father is the Head Auror and your parents are the bloody Silver Stag and Dark Lord. Says that we should ‘take advantage of the opportunity to get ahead in life’. Besides, exclusive parties might be fun.”

Rose threw up her hands in exasperation and huffed “Slytherins!”

Exchanging a glance, Albus and Scorpius mimicked her and shouted “Gryffindors!” and laughed the rest of the way to the potion’s classroom.

The dungeons were considerably colder than the rest of the castle and generally considered as dreary, but somehow the Head of Slytherin House had managed to make the space warm and inviting. Fairy lights had been strung about the ceiling to provide even more illumination, and a fire crackled in the hearth to provide warmth. The room was occupied by long heavy tables of polished wood with a chair and cauldron set at even intervals throughout. Albus, Scorpius and Rose all sit together, Albus in the middle, and politely sat through Slughorn’s jovial explanation of the subject and the instructions for a basic Sleeping Draught which would be their assignment for the day.

Paired with the Malfoy Heir on his right, the two of them set about turning the flames below the cauldron to the right temperature and filling it with water. Leaving Scorpius to monitor the boil, Albus collected the required ingredients-4 sprigs of lavender, 2 blobs of flobberworm mucus, 4 valerian sprigs and 6 spoonfuls of whatever mystery substance was contained in the beaker marked clearly with the words ‘standard ingredient’-from the cabinet in the front of the room. While the Malfoy Heir read off the instructions from their open potions textbook Albus chopped and diced and stirred and, by the time class came to an end, they’d managed to produce something that was at least vaguely purple in color.

“I’ll take it up.” Albus said once the stopper was firmly secured in place atop the filled vial. “He wanted to see me after class today anyway. To talk about my parents.”

“Well, alright then.” Rose said. “If you do manage to get away before dinner, we’ll probably be on the grounds. There’s still an hour before dark and the weather is nice.”

“I’ll see you at dinner otherwise, Albus.” Scorpius gathered up the rest of his things and followed Rose out of the room.

Albus put away his own belongings, slung his bag over his shoulder, checked to ensure Damballa was still comfortably coiled around his left arm, and then carried the vial of Sleeping Draught they’d brewed up to the front desk.

“You haven’t quite the flare for the subject that your mother and father both did, but you’re certainly above the expected skill level for your year.” He looked over the contents of the vial with an approving gleam in his eyes. “You could become a potions master in the future, I think, easily if you continue to produce work like this.”

“Thank you, Sir.” He said. “You wanted to speak with me?”

“Ah, yes! Yes! I have a couple of articles from various newspapers that you might find to be interesting and something of a small surprise for you. Minerva was kind enough to allow me to borrow the pensive from the Head Office to give you the opportunity to see them both for yourself.” The aged man waddled out from behind the desk and gestured to him to follow. “Come. Come. My office is just over this way.”

He was led out of the potion’s classroom and down the hall a short way to a portrait of a man brewing at a cluttered work table. The portrait swung wide to reveal a round entryway. The interior of Slughorn’s office was furnished in dark wood and, much like his class room, had a fire crackling in the hearth. He was offered a chair positioned in front of a table containing a pot of tea, a plate of crystalized pineapple and a rune etched bowl of swirling silver liquid to him.

“Have a cup of tea and make yourself comfortable. Try the crystallized pineapple; your father introduced me to the stuff during his own school days and I’ve been hung on it ever since.” Slughorn crossed the room to another desk and pulled open a drawer. Beginning to rummage through the contents. “Now, where did I put those papers.”

Albus eyed the rune covered bowl dubiously for a moment then reached forward and poured himself a cup of tea. Picking up a slice of the candied fruit after a bit of hesitation and taking a bite. Grimacing inwardly at how heinously sweet it was.

“Ah, here we are!” Slughorn straightened up, a handful of folded newspapers-some issues of  _ The Daily Prophet _ and another foreign newspaper he’d never seen before-and crossed the room again to sit himself. Setting the pile down atop the table within easy reach. “I’ve had a habit for a long time of collecting articles regarding the achievements of my most exceptional students.” He drew an incredibly old, yellowed paper from the bottom of the stack and held it out to him. “This one here was about your father. Brilliant boy. Brilliant man. Though I’m afraid I can’t call him a good one. Not now.”

Albus took the dried paper carefully and looked it over. The article’s title was  _ Hogwarts Prodigy Tom Marvolo Riddle, Slytherin Prefect, Awarded for Special Services to the School _ and below it was a picture of his father at age 15, standing proudly in his school robes and holding a silver plaque in his hands. The date of the article was March 17th, 1943.

“He stopped the school from having to close, after that beast killed that poor girl down in the first floor girl’s lavatory. He was so proud. So, so proud. And rightfully so: he’d defended his ancestor’s legacy from being destroyed. Though Dumbledore was soft on the perpetrator: Hagrids a nice enough man, but his love of highly dangerous creatures is...dangerous.” Slughorn pulled another paper from the stack and handed it to him. “Your mother became famous quite young indeed. Famous for a terrible tragedy.”

_ Dark Lord’s Downfall! Harry James Potter: The-Boy-Who-Lived! _ blared out at him from the page. The story detailing how the young wizard, barely past the age of one, had vanquished the powerful Dark Lord when the killing curse he’d aimed at him had rebounded. The article had no picture and was dated November 1st 1981.

“ _ The Daily Prophet _ wrote about him quite a lot. Not strange, considering he was something of a celebrity. Though not all of the articles were pleasant ones. I have the one which details his winning of the Tri-Wizard Tournament at only 14 but Rita Skeeter wasn’t terribly flattering of him so I thought I’d skip everything between the article you have in your hands and these two.”

Another pair of papers were handed to him. The first marked June 2nd 1998 and titled  _ Treaty Signed At Last! _ The attached image was of his mother, at 17, standing beside his cowled father with a look of sadness on his face. No doubt due to the stipulation of being forced to leave their world forever. The second article, dated September 17th, 2003, sported a picture of the massive patronus which Draco had described and was labeled  _ Potter Returns as Head Auror by Dark Lord’s Request _ .

“He did many great things during his short tenure at the Ministry for Magic.” Slughorn said. “Did so much to begin rooting out decades worth of corruption. Not everyone agreed with him, make no mistake, but he was known to be fair and sympathetic. And for those qualities he was well loved.” His potions professor handed him the last of the stack of papers. A Russian paper titled  _ Krasnoye Plat’ye Roksana _ which meant nothing to him. He looked up at the other man in confusion. “Your father began to court your mother during a meeting of magical leaders which occurred once every ten years. Press was there from numerous countries, but I find myself most fond of the Russian one.”

The picture was one of his parents dancing, in full color. His father, pale and serpentine, dressed in a fine suit of deep emerald with a silver vest. His mother in robes of gold and scarlet which flared about him as he spun and caught the light like flames. “What does it say?”

“Red Robed Roxanne which, I believe, may be a Muggle reference of some sort.” Slughorn chuckled. “It was tradition, at that gathering, for the leaders to dance with their partners. It was quite a public venue to come forward with their recently changed status and, well, your father has a particularly strong sense for the dramatic. He chose a tango.”

They looked happy, in that picture. Focused solely on each other, as if nothing else existed. Each dressed in the color of the other’s eyes, though whether that was intentional he’d never know.

Damballa hissed from where his head poked out of the top of his robes.  **_“:I remember that night. It was unpleasant; Master was spun about and dipped wildly and I did not enjoy it.:”_ **

Albus stifled a snicker and gently touched the photograph. A moment in time when both his parents had been alive and healthy. Happy together. “ **_:They loved each other.:”_ **

The false cobra flicked out his tongue and considered the image, head cocked to one side. “ **_:Yes. The Dark One died the night my Master did, if only in spirit. He is not the same, now, as he was back then. He is broken in a way that could never be fixed.:”_ **

When he ran a hand down the serpent’s back, it was as much an effort to comfort himself as it was to comfort it.

“Well, Mr. Riddle, if you’d like to see your parents together for yourself then you’re welcome to the pensive.” Slughorn said. “They’d often pay me the privilege of their company, if only because they knew I would not push them for gossip or judge them for the nature of their bond. What I have for you here is a particularly special one of those times.”

Resting the newspaper down, Albus looked over at the odd bowl; what his Head of House had referred to as a ‘pensive’. It didn’t seem dangerous. And Damballa wasn’t sounding off any sort of warning. “How do I use it?”

“Not difficult. Not difficult at all. Just lean down over it and stick your head into the bowl; it might be a bit disorienting at first.”

Albus hesitated a moment further, then drew the pensive-heavy and likely made of some sort of stone-across the table towards him. Doing as instructed and leaning forward into the bowl. He felt as if his feet had tipped up and went pitching down into a swirl of green and silver until he hit solid ground. Color bleeding in around him like drops of dye in water. Slowly forming into shapes, fuzzy around the edges but recognizable still as Slughorn’s office. The light from the hearth was the same, but the man himself appeared-just slightly-younger and he sat in a large cushy armchair. In front of him sat the table Albus had been positioned in front of, laden down the same tea set and plate of crystallized pineapple alongside a display of tiny cakes. Curled up in a loveseat opposite the old Professor were his parents: his father quietly holding his tea over the saucer as he sipped delicately and his mother huddled into his side. Knees pulled up to his chest and looking perfectly at home there, nibbling on one of the tiny cakes and basking in the proximity of his older partner. The courtship bracelet a brassy gleam at his wrist, intricately etched with runes and images of horned serpents entwined in celtic knots.

The quiet of the moment was broken when Slughorn suddenly stood up. “Ah, I’d almost forgotten to tell you, Harry. I finished brewing the potion you asked for the other day. I’ll just go get that for you now.”

As the older man strode over to the nearby cabinet and pulled it open, his father turned to the little raven on the couch and asked “you know that you could have asked me to brew anything you needed, Precious.”

“I know, but I wanted this to be something of a surprise. And...I don’t know.”

“You were worried that I’d tell you no?” he reached out gently to run his long fingers through the smaller raven’s hair. A smile pulling up on the corners of his lips when Harry butted his head against his palm like a cat. “What exactly did you have him brew?”

“Damara’s Grace.” Slughorn said grandly as he wobbled his way back to them, holding a rubicund vial of blush pink liquid. “You were a stunning student, Tom, but this isn’t the sort of thing which would have been taught in class or spoken of in Hogwarts’ library. Not even in your time.” He handed the potion to Harry who allowed his father to pluck it from his hands.

The Dark Lord turned it about, examining it with narrowed red eyes that bordered on suspicious. “What is it?”

Slughorn nodded at Harry, who turned as pink as the potion the instant Tom’s gaze snapped onto him. “It’s a male pregnancy potion.” His voice had pitched up now, and came dangerously close to a squeak. “I wanted to have it on hand...in case we ever decided...but I didn’t know if you’d want children.”

His father gently grabbed the smaller wizard by the arm and pulled him in closer. Wrapping his arms around his waist. “I’d thought that you’d prefer to adopt.” There was something possessive in his tone. In the way that he held him.

“I know that  _ you  _ wouldn’t.” Harry said. “That you’d want blood children, if any at all. Because there’s no greater claim on someone than being able to say that they’ve carried your children?”

The brunet buried his face in the raven’s wild hair and huffed. “At this point, you know me too bloody well.”

“Most people would consider knowing your partner so well a good thing.” Harry said, still clutching the potion. His plate of cakes forgotten. He tilted his head back, looking up into the red eyes of the Dark Lord, and smiled when his father kissed him on the tip of his nose. “You’re ok with me using it, then?”

“If this is really what you want, then I won’t argue it. But wait until after we’re married; no child of mine will be a bastard.”

“Of course not.”

“And you’d best believe you’re going to be left to the mercy of every healer with the appropriate training and vetting I can get my hands on.” His father tightened his grip on the smaller man. “I won’t lose you like I lost my mother. Won’t have you bleed to death in childbirth like a worthless Muggle wretch!”

There was something in the older wizard’s eyes, now, which looked like either hysteria or rage. Harry appeared unphased by it and reached up to lay a hand against his cheek. The gentle touch seemed to make all the tension leave his frame. “Anything that you want me to do to ensure you’re certain of my safety I’ll do it. And I promise I won’t complain too much.”

His father snorted. “Define your standard of ‘too much’.”

Harry pouted at him, lightly tracing the tips of his fingers up and down along the curve of his cheek. “I have a name picked out, too.”

“Oh?” the Dark Lord reached up to cover his hand with his own. “And what would that be?”

“Lily Luna if they’re a girl.” He said. “Albus Severus, for a boy.”

His father’s expression soured. “Lily Luna is perfectly acceptable but no son of mine will be called after Albus Dumbledore or Severus Snape. Let alone _ both _ of them!”

“Why not, Tom?” Harry asked, looking up at him with pleading doe eyes. “Albus Dumbledore was like a grandfather to me, his faults aside. And Snape...he was a bellend, I’ll admit that, but he risked so, so much to keep me safe. If only for my mother’s sake.”

“Albus Dumbledore’s design called for your death in order to defeat me! And Snape is a run of the mill traitor!”

“And it would mean more to me than I could ever put to words to be able to thank them like this for all that they did for me.”

His father tried to keep his expression stern and harsh but was rapidly losing the battle. Finally setting into a rather petulant sneer “Very well. If it truly means so much to you, Precious, then you may name our first child Albus Severus. _ If  _ they are a boy.” He said. “But I get to name our second as I please.”

“Of course. We’ll switch off who gets to name every other child.” Harry wrapped his arms around one of the Dark Lord’s and rested his head on his shoulder. “I’ll name the first. You’ll name the second. I’ll name the third. So on and so forth. After all, it’s only fair.”

“So on and so forth? Precious, how  _ many _ do you want?”

The little raven hummed, then turned to look at the aged potions master. “Horace, how many will this potion let me have?”

Chuckling to himself, the other man said “well, the record with that potion is 15.”

Beaming in a way which almost looked evil, the smaller wizard clutched the Dark Lord’s arm tighter and chirped a sing song “I think 17 sounds like a good number, don’t you?”

His father looked absolutely horrified.

Albus emerged from the pensive with a gasp and became immediately aware of just how tight Damballa had coiled about his shoulders. The false cobra’s face immediately pressed into his as soon as he realized he’d moved.

**_“:Little Master, are you alright? You stopped moving and were just standing there!:”_ **

**“:** **_I’m alright.:”_ ** He rasped, reaching up to reassure the snake.  **_“:I’m alright.:”_ **

His mother had wanted a big family. He could have had siblings. 16 of them, had his Harry had his way. Maybe even more. He’d been named for two people his father hated, but he’d allowed it because it had meant something to the wizard that he’d loved.

“Very few people understood their relationship. Even fewer truly believed that your father loved your mother, but they never doubted their feelings for each other. And Tom couldn’t deny him anything, though he’d get it into his head to try from time to time.” Slughorn shook his head. “Such a shame. If that manor had been completed one week sooner, perhaps things would be different now.”

With 16 siblings and both parents, yes. Albus liked to think that ‘different’ would have been a good name for it. ‘Chaos’ would have been another one.

“Oh, look at the time! Don’t let me keep you, Mr. Riddle. Young Mr. Malfoy and young Mrs...was it Wheezy? Her father was never particularly memorable so I can’t easily recall. No matter; they must be waiting for you to join them by now?”

“Thank you, Professor Slughorn.” He said, only partially surprised to find he really meant it. “For showing me these papers. And especially for the memory: being able to see my mother for myself, as more than just a picture...it was different. A good different.”

The squat potions master nodded sagely. “Your mother was a uniquely noble soul. If you couldn’t meet him for yourself, then you at least deserved to see the way he truly was. But don’t let this rambling old man keep you. Run along now.”

With a last glance at the pensive and the little raven’s laughter ringing in his ears, Albus hurriedly ducked out of the room.


	7. By the Lakeside

A shower of silver sparks shot from the tip of his wand, raining down onto the surface of his desk and leaving several small scorch marks across it in a pattern not reminiscent of a galaxy or nebula which Professor Sinestra would have had him looking at back in his school days, during Astronomy class. Draco forcibly stilled the hand that he’d been tapping so as not to risk actually setting the piece of furniture aflame and ran his fingers roughly through his short pale hair. Tugging. Then dropped both hands into his lap and sat back in his chair with a loud creak.

“Galloping gargoyles and Merlin’s soggy left...hell’s bells!” He huffed, turning a narrowed silver gaze onto the wizarding photograph sitting on the edge of his desk. Harry, grinning ear to ear and clutching a tankard of warm butterbeer in hand, face flush with the amount of the substance he’d already drank, had draped himself across his shoulders like an overly affectionate feline. Ignorant to Draco’s attempts to shrug him off, or perhaps aware that his heart hadn’t been in the effort of flinging him away. The wooden frame was cool against the tips of his fingers as he picked it up and turned it around. Eyes landing on the careful handwriting that he found there: Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy,  _ Le Petit Lutin _ , 2008.

This had been taken at his bachelor party, in an old magical tavern in France not far from one of the properties his family owned in the area by Collin Creevy. Harry had attempted to douse him in butterbeer in revenge for the dunking of fire whiskey he’d received from Draco during his own bachelor party, and when that much had failed, had-in his near drunk state-all but climbed onto his back, grinning all the while.

A few weeks shy of a year later, he’d found himself standing beside his partner’s open grave.

“I don’t know what to do, Harry.” The raven haired occupant of the picture ignored him, too caught up in a night of rabble rousing long since passed to pay attention to his words. “We’ve been looking for that bastard for 11 years now and can’t find a damned trace of him anywhere. You never got justice for what happened to you, your son might be in danger and I have no idea what to do.”

More than likely, placed into the same position, Harry wouldn’t have known what to do either. The little raven had once admitted that it was more often than not Hermione or even Ron who came up with something approaching a plan while he, blindly, charged forward with total abandon. Typical bloody Gryffindor. But he didn’t have even a stripe of lion in him. Was Slytherin through and through. So attempting to ‘follow his instincts’ and put his head down like a bull wouldn’t be likely to produce anything of value.

If not go running into the thick of matters like a lunatic, wand blazing, what would Harry have done in his position? If the information that he had in front of him kept leading nowhere, time and time again and he couldn’t go to Ron or Hermione for aid? The answer to that question of course, was equally as obvious. And not something he particularly relished the thought of, but there wasn’t much choice. Pushing himself back from his desk, Draco strolled across the Head Auror’s office to the far wall and scanned down the wall of badges-something Harry had had installed with Hermione’s help during his tenure in the position, taking inspiration from both the Dark Mark and the false galleons his little club had used to communicate in fifth year-and lightly tapped the names he wanted.

They’d never come close to replacing the 5’5” force of nature that had been Harry James Potter but he’d rather have Theodore and Blaise at his back than any of the other Aurors on his force. Or any of the Death Eaters who still wore the mask. Neither one of them were quite as intimidating as Crabbe or Goyle had been but being considerably smarter made up for that much.

The door of his office swung open an instant later and permitted the pair into the room.

“Good timing.” He turned away from the wall at last. “Any news?” He already knew the answer. It was always the same. By now, asking had become little more than a reflexive formality.

“Nothing.” Theodore provided in a tone which edged dangerously on a grunt. “Aside from a handful of rumblings which never seem to lead anywhere, it’s been silent. But you already know that much.”

Unfortunately.

“You have something planned, Dray?” Blaise asked, regarding his pinched expression warily.

“Yes.” He said. “A visit to St. Mungos. And the two of you are coming with me. We’re running this by the Dark Lord.”

The expression which passed between them made it more than clear that they were less than pleased with the concept but neither one of them argued the matter. They fell in behind him as he exited the office and made their way into one of the golden lifts, then through the atrium-passed the statue of a basilisk and a phoenix which adorned the top of the Fountain of Magical Unity-and over to the apparition point. Dolohov and Rookwood were on duty that night and nodded at them as they passed. Draco didn’t bother to return the gesture and swept by, raising a fist to knock immediately against the door.

There was a long pause. A muffled cough. And then, in a voice much thinner than it had been the last time he’d heard it-just short of two months ago-the Dark Lord called for them to enter. The man himself was propped up against a stack of pillows and looked at them with heavily lidded eyes. Expectant and yet so, so tired.”

“Draco.” He rasped, raising his head with an effort which seemed almost monumental. “For what have you come? I didn’t call.”

“No, my Lord, you did not. Apologies for disturbing you but I thought it necessary to bring my mounting concerns to your attention.” He said, aware that the two he’d brought with him would be making no attempt to speak. “Augurey has been too quiet for too long and I’m certain that Diggory is planning something. Even more so considering the sighting of him in Diagon.”

“And you want permission for something?” The last of his energy running out, the brunet allowed his head to flop back down onto the pile of pillows behind him.

“I’d like your permission to place a watch on Albus. Not only while he’s at school but indefinitely, until Augurey is dealt with once and for all.”

Red eyes-dim and close in color to dried blood-took him in dully. “Are there not Aurors already stationed at Hogwarts?”

“There are, but those Aurors were dispatched for the general purposes of keeping the school safe as a whole.” Draco said. “I’d like to up the security surrounding your son, considerably and set a discrete personal guard: invisibility cloaks, disillusionment charms and the best among the ranks of my Aurors and the Death Eaters. Out of sight so as not to concern him but there in case they’re ever needed.”

The older wizard took a moment before he answered, eyes fluttering closed again as if he were struggling to scrape together more energy, and then said “how long will it take for you to set this up properly, Draco?”

“Not long, my Lord.” He said. “Blaise will be able to set up a suitable roster by sundown.”

“And who will be with him until that time?”

“I will.” Draco said. “The first Quidditch match of the year takes place today. It’s a perfect excuse to pop in for a visit without raising too much of a question in anyone’s mind.

“Very well. You’ve my blessing to do as you’ve requested. Anything to make certain he’s kept safe.” He said. “Zabini.”

The man turned pale upon being addressed directly. “Y-Yes, Sir?”

“You’re to run that list by me before anything goes into effect. Am I perfectly clear?”

The Italian wizard nodded hastily. 

“Very well. The three of you may go.” Theodore and Blaise couldn’t seem to exit the room quickly enough, though they did manage to hold onto their pure blood poise by the skin of their teeth. But Draco had almost made it to the threshold when he was called back. “Malfoy.”

Reluctantly, he stopped and glanced back. “My Lord?”

Those clouded, sanguine eyes stared listlessly at him for a long moment. “Tell my son I love him.”

He nodded, then stepped out into the hall. Allowing the door to swing shut with a click. Neither Blaise nor Theodore had waited for him. Sighing, Draco reached up to massage his forehead and then headed for the waiting room.

Hogsmeade never seemed to change, no matter how many years passed since he’d first laid eyes on it while disembarking the Hogwarts Express for the first time. Back when he’d still been a foolish child. Back before war had forced him to grow up and confront the choices that he’d regret having made. Shaking the memories of it all away, the Head Auror reached down to straighten his robes and set off down the winding packed dirt path which led up to the castle’s gates.

This was where he’d taken his schooling, clashed with the raven haired Gryffindor and fought beneath a banner he hadn’t really believed in. This was where they’d returned to teach the 5th through 7th years in a rebooted, refined version of the Dueling Club which that utter fool Lockhart had attempted to start during their second year. Where they’d stood shoulder to shoulder against an attack led by the disgruntled werewolf Fenrir Greyback and had finally put their rivalry to rest.

This wasn’t the first time he’d returned to the ancient castle without Harry. And it wasn’t the first time that it felt as if there were a void beside him where his partner had once stood. But the hollow ache remained, distant but familiar and no less stark for the length of time it had existed. Draco forced himself not to heed the faintest shadow-not even a proper ghost-of the other man and kept walking.

He could see the castle proper now: it’s big stone towers and soaring buttresses and ancient windows. In the near distance, down the rolling grounds and past the wispy flickering branches of the Whomping Willow, the Quidditch Pitch was visible. Each of its four towers checkmarked in House colors, a long thin flag waving at their peaks. The pitch had been burned all but entirely to the ground during the Battle for Hogwarts, before Harry had convinced the Dark Lord to call a truce. It had taken the better part of a year to be rebuilt and now, at least to Draco’s memory, displayed no signs of ever being damaged.

A considerable part of that, no doubt, on account of the Dark Lord’s obsessive inspection of the area just prior to Harry’s visit to look over the repairs.

The first Quidditch match of the year was always the most excitable, and as such it came as no surprise to the Head Auror to find the grounds flooded with children. A swift point me spell and a keen eye for the tell tale hints of the pale blonde and fiery red hair belonging to his son and the Weasley girl led him to the trio without much difficulty. They were walking ahead of him on the path, though his much larger strides were quick to close the distance, and hadn’t noticed him. Rose walking beside Albus, joining the reserved boy in watching Scorpius pantomime something which, to Draco, looked rather like a poorly executed effort to mimic a drunken centaur while talking a mile a minute about the advantages held by that year’s roster of the Falmoth Falcons over Puddlemere United.

Not for the first time since he’d met him, Draco found himself wondering how someone so calm could be related to Harry James Potter. Or the Dark Lord, for that matter. Then, again, the blaze of passion which had burned from both ends had been snuffed out when Albus was still too young to have more than vague memories of him. And the Basilisk of Britain had lost his venom, and dulled his fangs, long ago.

Albus was transitioning well after so long spent so sheltered, and everything else considered.

“Headed down to the pitch?” he asked, alerting them at last to his presence. All three jumped. Scorpius whirled around, eyes wide, though whether that was due to surprise, excitement or embarrassment Draco supposed he’d never know. “Father!”

“Are you here to watch the game, Head Auror Malfoy?” Albus asked, perfectly polite and sizing him up. 

Reservedness aside, the calculating attention and spark of defiance in those green eyes made it very plain from whom he hailed. “You know that you can call me Draco, don’t you?”

“Draco,” the boy said without missing a beat, “are you here to watch the game or did father ask you to come and watch me because of everyone coming onto the grounds?”

Actually, he’d sent himself. Though he’d had to gain the Dark Lord’s approval first before he could really do so. “I’ll admit that the game was mostly just an excuse to stop in and see how the three of you are settling in.” Draco did his best to keep his voice casual as he fell into step beside them. He was the Head bloody Auror after all and if he couldn’t fool three school children-even if one was the Dark Lord in waiting and the other his own-then they had a problem on their hands. “Your fathers thinking of you, and asked me to let you know that he loves you.”

The man had learned from Harry’s death, at least. Once upon a not too distant time ago Draco was certain he’d have choked to death if asked to say those three small words to anyone. But when he’d commanded him to carry the message they’d come with the worn familiarity of common use.

Albus looked at him sharply, eyes wide. “You’ve seen father? How recently?”

“Today. I had to deliver a report before I left for here.” Not untrue. At least, not entirely. “Though the details of that much aren’t something you need to be worrying about at your age.” Harry had  _ hated _ being told by adults that he was ‘too young’ to know something or that he was ‘too young’ to be involved. It had been, he’d eventually confessed to Draco years after the war when they’d finally become friends instead of just reluctant partners on the job, what he’d hated most about the adults who’d been in their lives. Most especially the Order of the Phoenix. If Albus was anything like his mother, and Draco didn’t doubt for a moment that he might well be when it came to this much, he’d hate it too. But there was nothing which could be done. “Who’s playing today.”

“Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw.” Albus answered, then quickly acted to steer the conversation back to the previous topic. “How was he, when you saw him? My father.”

There was desperation in those hauntingly familiar eyes. The stubborn hope for a miracle. That the healers would turn out to be wrong. That the dying Dark Lord would make a sudden, seemingly impossible recovery. Draco wished, so much, that he could tell the boy that such a thing was true. But he wouldn’t give the poor child something as devastating and cruel as false hope. “He’s gotten worse, Albus.” The boy flinched. Eyes, just for a moment, before pulling on a mask of control which his father had likely taught him, betraying his pain. “Your father isn’t in immediate danger. He’ll still be there at Yule.” Merlin, don’t let the man take a sudden downturn now that he’d said as much. Gently, a part of him unsure if such a thing were the right move, he rested a hand on Albus’ shoulder. “And you have my word that, if anything happens and...he goes sooner than expected I’ll make sure that you’re with him. Even if I have to pull your Professors’ claws off you myself.”

Faintly, though it disappeared almost as soon as it formed, Albus smiled. Restraining a sigh of relief, he placed his other hand on Scorpius’ shoulder and the four of them made the rest of the trip to the stands in silence.

“The two of you will be alright with Head Auror Malfoy, won’t you? I mean,” Grace eyed the Slytherin stands wadilly; a sea of green and silver flashing in the light of the mid-morning sun, “I can stay, if you’d like.”

“Father’s not gonna pitch us off the top of the stands, Rosie!” Scorpius huffed, though the twinkle of amusement in his eyes diffused any bite he might have wanted the statement to have. 

Albus remained silent on the matter, a distant expression on his face. Draco suspected he hadn’t even heard what had been said. Spending a moment watching Rose disappear into the crowds in the direction of the red and gold draped stand, and then another to sweep their surroundings for the faces of anyone suspicious, he gently prodded both boys towards the stairs. “Let’s go and find a seat. Before all of the good ones wind up taken.”

The staircase leading up to the stands overhead was just as narrow as Draco remembered. Hot from the muted sunlight which streamed through the fabric surrounding them. Smelling strongly of wood and earth. Their footsteps thudded as they climbed, the individual steps lost beneath the clamorous thunder of the herds ahead and behind them and the mounting excitement from those already seated as the game’s start drew even closer. The steps quaked beneath their feet. A glance at his son showed a tint of concern on Scorpius’ face, likely for the possibility that the structure would suddenly collapse. Albus didn’t seem to register the shuddering, still too lost in his own world.

Draco let him be until they were in their seats, a bench in the very middle which provided a perfect view of the entire pitch, and the captains of the two House teams had approached each other for the release of the snitch. Then, he gently nudged his shoulder and watched his green eyes clear. “The games starting.”

Albus blinked twice and turned his head, just in time to see the little golden ball zip away into the clouds. The two teams were on their brooms and in the air moments later. “That's the snitch?”

“Yes.”

“That’s the one the seeker goes after.” Draco heard the ‘that’s the one my mother went after’ left unspoken underneath and nodded.

“We were both seekers.” He said. Out on the field, one of Hufflepuff’s beaters took an all mighty swing at a passing bludger. Knocking it back into one of Ravenclaw’s chasers. The top half of her broom flew off and sent her crashing down into the sand. “But I didn’t get to join until my second year. As much as Snape favored us Snakes, had I pulled something like Harry did in our flying class and been seen he’d have flayed me alive.”

The brunet hadn’t taken his eyes off the pitch, scanning the air for any signs of the snitch. “Did you ever beat him?”

It had infuriated him, back then. Now, Draco couldn’t think of much he’d rather do than find himself on the losing end of another Quidditch match with Harry. “No.” The closest he’d ever come was a split second too late. Fingers scrabbling along the back of the little Gryffindor’s hand, curled triumphantly around the Snitch. “He could have gone pro. Easily. Wouldn’t have had the slightest trouble giving Krum a run for his money. Harry loved Quidditch; loved just being able to fly.” Granger had said, once, that he must have been a bird in another life. If there really was such a thing as reincarnation, then he hoped his friend had again found himself with wings. 

“Do you think you’ll join Slytherin’s team next year?”

The snitch was bobbling about near the middle goalpost on Ravenclaw’s side of the field. Neither seeker had seen it, but Albus had. “Yeah.” He said, sounding somewhat distant. “I think I might.”

The game ended 32 to 127 for the Eagles and the Slytherin stands roared along with them; unsurprisingly, the inter house Alliances hadn’t much changed since his time there. Though the marriage of the Heir of Slytherin himself to Harry Potter,who might as well have been the Heir of Gryffindor for all that he perfectly embodied most of Lion House’s values, had damped the Slytherin-Gryffindor feud from dislike on principle to a friendly rivals status not unlike the familiar teasing their relationship had manifest itself as just prior to the public start of their courtship.

Around them, the stands were emptying. Albus and Scorpius mimicked him as he rose to his feet. 

“How long are you staying, father?”

Draco cast a quick Tempus to check the time. Vanishing the pocket watch again a moment later.  _Blaise will certainly have finished putting that list together by now. I should be getting a Patronus any minute._ He looked down at his son. “About another hour, I think. You’re doing well in your classes?”

Scorpius was all too happy to inform him of his classes, his grades, what subjects he preferred and which he didn’t. Albus occasionally adding in with his own comments when prompted by his friend. They were rejoined by Rose as they exited the Slytherin stands. Draco stopped once they’d left the Quidditch pitch, beside a narrow footpath leading off towards the Black Lake.

“I’ve a bit more to tell you about Harry, Albus, if you’d like to walk with me.”

The boy stopped, looking over at his friends. Scorpius smiled and nodded encouragingly, then said “goodbye, father. I’ll see you at Samhain” before dashing for the castle in a whirl of black and emerald robes.

“We’ll meet you in the library, Albus.” Rose informed him. “Don’t forget to bring your Charms book. We have that essay on the Fire-Making Charm for Professor Flitwick.”

With that, she turned and followed Scorpius away.

Draco couldn’t suppress a small chuckle. “She’s just like her mother.”

“I’ve noticed.” Albus grumbled, taking a short step forward. Joining him at the head of the little path instead of the main walk away from the pitch.

“Still haven’t learned not to go with her to the library, I see.”

The little brunet turned pink and muttered a reply under his breath that Draco didn’t catch. The Head Auror lightly squeezed the boy’s shoulder again and then motioned him ahead. The underbrush crunched beneath their feet as they started making their way down the path.

_ Over a decade since that night, and not a single bloody thing has changed. _ The trees overhead had begun to shift color from their natural green, forming a shivering roof of orange and scarlet and gold as autumn ticked ever closer. Woody vines curled close along the hard packed ground, beneath the narrow balding branches of the bushes and nettles and ferns.  _ Was it really so early in October? Or was it closer to Samhain? Merlin, the little details...I can’t remember. _ A little taller, dark hair a little wilder, and set him crashing through the undergrowth behind Draco rather than picking gracefully through it in front, and he might have mistaken him for Harry.  _ It hadn’t been this bright, though. Later in the day. Much later. _

Ahead of them, the trees unfurled into a sudden panorama view of the Black lake and its pebble strewn shore. Afternoon sunlight reflected off the wobbling surface, making it flash like the scales of a darting fish. Albus stopped just shy of where the icy water lapped at the stones, looking out at the mountains rising, misty and snow capped, on the other side. He didn’t turn his head when Draco stepped up beside him.

“They held the Triwizard Tournament’s second task here, my fourth year.” He said, indicating the curve of the shore a few hundred yards to their right. “The stands were over there. And they erected big towers in the water for the champions to jump from when the timer started.”

“Did he win?” Albus still didn’t turn to look at him. “My mother?”

“The Tournament? Yes. The second task? No. But only because he took the extra time to rescue the subject of another Champion who hadn’t managed to complete the task.” He said. “He came in third. The representative for Beauxbatons, who hadn’t successfully completed the task, came in last.”

“But... _ Tri _ wizard Tournament?”

Draco cracked a small smile. “There were four champions that time.” He said. “Your father was responsible. It was a part of his plot to regain a physical body; he needed Harry’s blood.”

Albus’ green eyes lowered from the distant mountains to the water. “Is that what you wanted to tell me about? My Mum’s performance in the second task?”

“No.” He said. “I thought, since I was back at Hogwarts for the day, that I’d tell you about how Harry and I buried our differences. It actually happened here. Right where we’re standing…”

_ The sun clung tenaciously to the line of the horizon. Sanguine red beyond the mountains, cut in black against the falling night. Stars were beginning to become visible, the sky overhead a swirl of dark violet and fading pale blue. The Black Lake lapped softly at the scattered stones across the shore. The gashes on his shoulder, still semi fresh and tacky with blood, smarted in the chill October air. Draco resisted the temptation to paw at the wound and kept his hands at his sides. _

_ “Were you bitten?” _

_ Draco jumped and turned to face his partner. With all the blundering through the forest that Potter had done as they’d walked he didn’t know how it was possible, but he’d forgotten the other wizard was there. “No.” He heard stones scatter around the Head Auror’s feet as he drew up beside him. Draco didn’t look. “Just his filthy claws, the mangy cur. Greyback has wanted to get a hold of me for years. It’s why he went after me in Diagon.” _

_ Some small, detached part of him was aware that he was being, perhaps, a bit over defensive in his tone but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Harry was unruffled. Watching him, expression open to a degree that only a Gryffindor could manage and green eyes collecting the light of the dying sun; almost seeming to glow. When he spoke again, his voice was soft in a way that Draco had never heard.  _

_ “What you did was very brave.” More like idiotic. Throwing himself in between a lunging werewolf and the terrified First Year who’d tripped in an effort to escape. Losing his wand in the process. “I never thought I’d see you voluntarily take a hit for someone else. Especially a Muggleborn.” _

_ Draco felt the muscles in his jaw work but bit back whatever bitter retort might otherwise have come on reflex. Turning his head enough to look at the raven beside him, silver eyes narrowed and sharp. “Is there something you’re trying to say, Potter?” _

_ “That you’re not as much of a bleeding git as I’ve always made you out to be. And that you should really start calling me Harry; the way we’ve been tolerating each other hardly sets a good example.” Reaching into his scarlet outer robe, the raven pulled out a tiny crystal vial and held it up. It had grown too dark for Draco to determine what potion it might have contained by sight but his raised eyebrow seemed to be sufficient in prompting his companion to elaborate. “Essence of Dittany. It saved Ron’s neck, back during the war, when he got splinched on our way out of the Ministry. I...tend to be prone to injuries and have made a habit of keeping some on me since I came back.” He offered it to him. “Here. If we get it quick enough we might even be able to stop it from scarring.” _

_ “Didn’t think you’d be one to give a pickled toad about scars.” He grumbled, taking the vial. The little cork came free with a muted pop. He pushed the torn, bloodied fabric of his robes back and grimaced at the ragged tears Greyback had clawed into his flesh.  _

_ “I don’t.” His partner chirped. In his opinion far too brightly to accommodate the given situation. “But I figured Astoria might.” Draco rolled his eyes and amade a rather rude hand gesture in the other wizard’s general direction. Prompting the raven to laugh. He dripped a bit of the Dittany out onto the wound and watched a curl of green steam rise towards the now fully dark sky. The wound appeared months old, once it cleared. Harry leaned closer, peering through his wire framed glasses at the result. “Looks good.” _

_ “Thanks.” Resecuring the cork, the blonde handed the vial back to his partner. Watching Harry carelessly drop it back into the pocket it had come from. _

_ “Did you really just thank me, Malfoy?  _ **_Me_ ** _?” Feigning disbelief, the smaller man peered up into the sky as if searching for something. “Huh. Don’t see any flying pigs.” _

_ “Oh, shove it!” He grumbled, wrapping his arms around himself to better ward against the cold. “And call me Draco.” _

_ Harry’s responding smile was brighter than the moon. _

A shining silver sparrow fluttered to the ground beside him, landing silently among the stones. Blaise’s voice emitted once it opened its beak. “The list is finished. Yaxley has been dispatched and will have arrived at the scene by the time you receive this message. The posted guards will switch off every eight hours, as directed. Bellatrix will be next, followed by Rookwood. I’ve the remainder for you to look over upon your return.”

The sparrow dissipated into a curl of mist, leaving Albus staring at the place where it had been. “Is that to do with the thing that you were reporting to father about?”

“Yes.” Draco said, resisting the urge to scan the area for signs of his disillusioned colleague. “I need to be getting back, Albus. I’ll walk you back to the castle.”The younger wizard turned his back on the Black Lake and began to make his way up the path. Draco glanced up at the position of the sun before he followed. “Any plans for Samhain?”

Albus shook his head, lips thinning as the mask over his emotions strained. “I’d celebrate with father every year. To honor magic.” He said. “Rose says that they celebrate Halloween here, instead. Even though it’s a Muggle holiday. Because it’s too difficult to do the old traditions on such a large scale.”

“It’s not surprising, really. The Dark wanted the magical holidays practiced, but it was one of the aspects that the Light was unwilling to budge on. Ultimately, given it was mostly Muggleborns who remain behind for the holidays, and that we at least got the old traditions reintroduced as subjects which are taught in History of Magic, it mattered little. Most Purebloods return home to celebrate.” He said. “Scorpius will be. And you’re welcome to join him, along with the Weasleys.” Whether they’d choose to come, though, he couldn’t be certain.

“I’d like that.” Albus said. “But I’ll have to write Ron and Hermione and ask before I’ll know if I can come.” A long pause. The castle was in sight, now. Just at the top of the hill they were starting to climb. “Did...did my parents celebrate with you?”

“At Greyside Manor, as it was more neutral ground.” He said. “Though they’d come to Malfoy manor yearly for the Yule Ball. Your mother hated it.” 

Harry had always despised political events. Too much staring. Too much exposure to the press. He’d complained, once, to Draco that it made his skin crawl and that it was a mercy the Dark Lord was so willing to distract him, and possessed the stamina that he did at his age for dancing. Voldemort had looked rather miffed over the light jab and had promptly dragged him off to demonstrate exactly how little ‘his age’ had to do with it.

While he’d been distracted they’d arrived at the wide staircase leading up to Hogwarts’ doors. “This is where I leave you, Albus. Good luck on your Charms homework. And do more to keep Damballa with you at all times; I haven’t seen him all morning.”

“Yes, Sir.” Albus said. Nodding as he started up the stairs. “Thank you.”

Draco remained where he stood at the castle’s foot, watching, until the ancient wooden doors swung firmly shut behind him.


End file.
